Descent into Darkness: The Specters of Our Pasts
by Ariel D
Summary: Story 4. “I am as intrinsically tied to and trapped by Menzoberranzan as Zaknafein once was.”—J.B. A threat to the throne of Bregan D’aerthe has arisen, endangering Jarlaxle and Entreri, both of whom must face their pasts and inner selves.
1. Chapter 1

**Important Note: **This story was originally posted to Lavender Eyes in January 2005, which is why it is being posted here in its entirety. For those of you who do not read the fanfics at LE, you need to know that this story is a continuation my first trilogy, _The Road to Redemption_, and begins eight months after its final installation, "The Face of a God."

You are free to read this story as a stand-alone, but I don't recommend it. If you do decide to start here, I warn you that Entreri and Jarlaxle have undergone some character development beyond where they are in "Empty Joys," which means, of course, that they act somewhat differently here than they do in _Servant of the Shard _and the following two short stories. Also, if you decide to read this story without reading my first three fanfics, I ask that you be patient with my returning original character, Tai Vatoshie (16-year-old cleric of Hoar, the god of vengeance; human male).

"The Specters of Our Pasts" draws upon "Empty Joys," "That Curious Sword," and _Servant of the Shard_, and it also refers to the story "The Third Level," in which we learn that as a child, Entreri was sexually abused. Knowledge of RAS's short stories, therefore, would be helpful for reading this fanfic.

I have chosen not to include the events of "Wickless in the Nether" in my fanfic universe. I built my fanfics on SotS, and I took these characters forward on one possible road they could have chosen. Some of what I did bears a resemblance to what RAS did, and the rest is **AU** as of "Wickless." So please enjoy these stories as an alternative fate for our beloved characters--a path they could have taken but one RAS didn't choose to explore.

* * *

**Descent into Darkness: The Specters of Our Pasts**

By Ariel

_Description: "I am as intrinsically tied to and trapped by Menzoberranzan as Zaknafein once was."—J.B. A threat to the throne of Bregan D'aerthe has arisen: a drow who wishes not only to kill Jarlaxle—and Entreri—but to toy with them first. Both Jarlaxle and Entreri will have to face their pasts and inner selves. Drama/Action/Angst. Rated M for graphic violence. _

Disclaimer: Jarlaxle, Artemis Entreri, and all other recognizable characters belong to R. A. Salvatore and Wizards of the Coast; likewise, Aedelvana and Uhrieved Hartshorn are the property of Wizards of the Coast. The snippets of poetry are from the poem and poet cited at the bottom of the page. No challenge to the copyrights is intended or should be inferred.

"_Let us go then, you and I,  
When the evening is spread out against the sky  
Like a patient etherized upon a table  
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets . . ." (1) _

**Chapter One**

The 29th of Ches, 1369 D.R.  
_The Year of the Gauntlet_

The dusty streets of Zelbross wound around the sagging taverns in such narrow loops and crooks that the eye could not follow them. The palest pink of a dying sunset reflected off dented gutters, but the approaching night's shadow cut off the glow mere inches below the roofs, leaving the impression that the buildings had been decapitated by a blade of darkness. A weak breeze kicked up swirls of dirt which snaked about the shiny boots of the street's single occupant, who stepped into an alley to conceal himself. Distant shouts of laughter and discordant music echoed faintly through the buildings as a tavern door opened, yet the sounds were only subconsciously noted by the waiting elf.

Although no further sound intruded upon the gloom, Jarlaxle instinctively turned toward the back of the alley and smiled as a psionic door opened and Kimmuriel Oblodra stepped into the shadows. As was typical of their meetings, the drow bowed to Jarlaxle and waited for him to speak first.

"My item?" the mercenary asked.

"Of course." Kimmuriel held out his hand, offering for inspection a thin golden necklace with a dragon pendent.

Jarlaxle accepted the piece and examined it carefully. "And you were successful in the enchantment?"

The slender drow feigned offense. "It was not as challenging as other items you have requested." He held up a second item. "The ring, however, was slightly more complex."

Jarlaxle secured the necklace around his neck before taking the simple silver band from Kimmuriel. Again, he inspected the piece. He looked up at Kimmuriel and grinned, adjusting his eye patch—over his right eye today—with his free hand. "I assume that it ultimately proved unproblematic for one such as yourself."

Kimmuriel bowed in response to the compliment.

"Tell me, what news?" The mercenary slipped the ring onto an already-adorned finger and folded his arms across his chest in a bored manner.

"I have dispatched a scout party to the surface," Kimmuriel said, sounding none-too-pleased.

"You? Extend to the surface? I would have never imagined such a thing!"

Kimmuriel frowned as Jarlaxle laughed. "Yes, unfortunately. However, recent inquiry into a magical item that a merchant sold in Menzoberranzan led me to believe that there may be profit involved." He smirked. "And with little human contact, I might add." Jarlaxle raised one white eyebrow at that comment, and after a moment, Kimmuriel looked as though he'd swallowed a jar's worth of spiders. "A bonus for me," he added belatedly.

Jarlaxle chuckled over the other's discomfort. "And what profit would this be?"

"Intelligence suggests that some vegetation in the High Forest has receded, revealing a section of ancient ruins. Supposedly, the magical item originated from these ruins, and the merchant claimed to be able to secure more artifacts. Of further interest was the power of the sample piece."

"So we are going to secure these potentially powerful artifacts instead," Jarlaxle concluded.

"Precisely." Kimmuriel cocked his head. "Perhaps you remember Mordecai, the young weapons master of House Tuin'Tarl whom we . . . acquired?"

Jarlaxle's grin turned wolfish. "I do, indeed. He complained so that the Calishites stank."

Kimmuriel's nose wrinkled as he seemed to recall a memory. "Yes. He is leader of the scout party." The drow joined in the grin. "We will see how he performs. He has mentioned several times of late that he shall kill both you and me and take leadership of Bregan D'aerthe."

The mercenary leader chuckled. "Ah. And I shall bury his bones along with all the others who came before him."

Although the grin remained on Kimmuriel's face, this passing reminder of his leader's dangerousness stole the gleam from his eyes. "Indeed." The grin vanished also. "I must tell you, Mordecai keeps his thoughts carefully still when in my presence—I rarely pick up any stray thoughts from him. However, I sense something from him, perhaps an unusual intensity, and he has been quite boastful of late."

"And so things remain as they have always been—and always will be." Jarlaxle sighed and dismissed Kimmuriel with a wave of his hand, although he secretly stored away the information, just in case. "Perhaps someday you will have something of genuine interest to report."

After a final bow to his leader, Kimmuriel left as he came, in the whisper of a thought, and Jarlaxle slipped into the street to wind his way to the musty hotel that would be his home for a night.

* * *

Meanwhile Artemis Entreri, carrying an overfilled pack, made his way out of the small merchant district. Here in the wealthier section of Zelbross, cobblestones covered the street, but neither the assassin's footsteps nor his cumbersome load made a sound. In one exhaustive sweep, Entreri had restocked his and his companion's supplies while Jarlaxle had claimed to run an "errand." 

In the fading light, the street—which had only a half-hour before been bustling with shouting people and barking dogs—had grown deserted. Now shadows stretched their black bodies across the cobblestones to arch up building fronts and to swallow vacant booths and people alike in the darkness. The few remaining customers skittered out of the street toward the taverns or residential section. Likely they feared another orc or goblin attack, given what Entreri had learned of recent events, but the assassin eased into the shadows with a smirk. Charon's Claw hung on his left hip, and his prized dagger on his right, and no orc or goblin would survive more than a few moments against him.

Entreri turned the corner onto the dusty street that would lead him to his inn, and out of habit, he slipped into the darkest shadows next to the buildings. Unfortunately, Entreri's inn was far from the town's main thoroughfare. The only decent establishment in town had rejected them upon seeing Jarlaxle's ebony skin; in fact, when the patrons had seen the drow, a fight had nearly broken out. It was the same everywhere they went, but here in The North the prejudice was worse: Entreri and Jarlaxle had been run out of towns, ambushed by angry citizens, and assaulted by town guards in several places they'd stopped. The assassin found that his mild irritation over the inconvenience was turning into something deeper. On one hand, he understood the people's hatred of the drow, but on the other hand, he found himself growing increasingly angry on Jarlaxle's behalf. It wasn't that the mercenary wasn't dangerous—for he certainly was—but he was too wise and diplomatic to harm anyone without good cause. Today, the assassin had almost spoken up for Jarlaxle and defended his reputation to the inn's patrons; however, when he'd realized what he was about to say, his own shock stopped him. Still, when Entreri thought upon the incident he felt irritated, and he wondered, just for an instant, if Drizzt Do'Urden's friends had suffered the same sense of frustration.

The thought was promptly stomped upon and killed.

As Entreri approached the final turn before his inn, a cloaked figure kneeling in the street caught his attention. Even in the growing darkness, the assassin could tell that the person was leaning over a small animal. As he grew nearer, he could see that the person was actually a male wood elf, and the animal was a solid white cat. The elf reached out a hand and held it over the cat, which lay limply on its side, and muttered a few words. After a few moments, the cat sat up, and the elf looked in Entreri's direction.

"The creature was trampled by a horse," the elf said.

Entreri had not realized that he'd halted and was staring until the elf spoke. He blinked, surprised at himself, but he knew something must have struck him wrong if he'd automatically stopped. "I see."

The elf smiled innocently at him and began petting the now-purring cat, but every warrior's sense the assassin possessed screamed at him. Something was definitely not right. Entreri glanced over the slender elf but saw nothing; although the elf's hood was down, his black cloak effectively covered the rest of his body and hid any weapons he might be carrying.

Suddenly, Entreri realized that the entire street was deserted except for himself, the elf, and the cat. "How kind of you to heal it," the assassin finally continued in a neutral tone.

The elf smiled at him again, although the warmth did not reach his eyes, and picking up the white cat, he stood. "Thank you, but healing it was a simple task, and it is too beautiful and graceful of a creature to allow die."

Entreri nodded absently, his sixth sense still yelling at him to either flee or fight. He began walking once more but kept himself ready in case he was attacked.

"What ever is the matter, dear sir?" the elf called after him.

Entreri stopped and glanced back at the elf, who grinned wryly at him, his blue eyes gleaming with dark amusement. "Nothing," the assassin answered. "Why would there be? If you choose to expend your energy healing a cat, it is none of my concern." Even as he spoke, the shadows around Entreri seemed to creep forward and encircle him.

Evil. That was the sensation Entreri felt, he realized—an aura of pure evil radiated from the elf, an aura which reminded him of the lich he and Jarlaxle had faced some ten months earlier. What was this elf that he exuded such an air of darkness? The assassin prepared to drop his sack and draw his weapons, but the elf merely snickered and stepped away into the shadows. The assassin remained still and focused all of his senses on detecting further movement. After several minutes, he decided the elf had left and turned toward his inn.

A pair of glowing red eyes watched Entreri from the shadows as he departed. The mysterious elf smiled to himself and kissed the soft, furry head of the animal reclining in his arms. The human had been more discerning than he'd predicted. No matter. The important thing was that his information had been correct: Artemis Entreri and Jarlaxle were indeed in Zelbross. The elf grinned wickedly. Fate had blessed him.

* * *

When Entreri reached the inn, he once again scanned his surroundings, but finding nothing, he shrugged and entered, making his way to the room he and Jarlaxle would share. Of course, he'd left the room trapped, but disengaging the complex traps took the talented assassin mere seconds, then he was inside dumping his sack and shedding his hat, cloak, and belt pack. 

The dingy room had little to offer, a fact which hardly registered upon the assassin. An oil lamp struggled against the shadows blossoming in the corners, but since the chill of the spring evening was not enough to invite a fire, Entreri let the darkness hedge in and hide the dented walls and cracked window. He lay on his bed, propped his feet on the footboard, and set to polishing his jeweled dagger. The assassin found the activity plenty entertaining, if not downright relaxing. When by himself, Entreri found it impossible to be bored, for he apparently lacked the capacity to feel ennui unless he were being subjected to the endless babble of an annoying other.

The elf who entered their room ten minutes later, however, had been elevated out of "annoying other" status, so his sudden return did not irritate the assassin in the slightest. In fact, Entreri reacted as though Jarlaxle had never left. "So do we continue in the general direction of Waterdeep?" he asked, not looking up from his dagger.

Jarlaxle hung his cloak and wide-rimmed purple hat upon the coat stand before turning to face the assassin. "'Good evening, Jarlaxle, I am glad to see you returned safely,'" the drow said with light sarcasm. "'Why thank you, dear Artemis, and a good evening to you as well.'"

"So do we continue in the direction of Waterdeep tomorrow?" Entreri repeated with a smirk.

"Yes, we do," the elf replied, approaching the bed. Although Entreri stopped polishing the dagger and looked at him, he didn't sit up. "For you," Jarlaxle said, pulling a silver band off his finger and tossing it to Entreri, who reflexively caught it.

The assassin stared with a frown at the ring and finally sat up. "A ring?" He snorted. "Are we to be wed, then?"

Jarlaxle laughed. "Ah! You are developing a sense of humor." He settled into the room's only chair—a rickety piece with stained cushions—and smiled. "I think you'll find it of use one day."

Entreri swallowed a sigh and gazed at the elf from under half-hooded eyes. _The Great Enigma speaks. Listen one, listen all._ But keeping the sarcasm to himself, he slipped the band onto the middle finger of his left hand. "Why Waterdeep?" he asked for the hundredth time this trip as he lay down and resumed his chore.

"Perhaps we should head north to Silverymoon instead," was the drow's elusive answer.

"You do realize that drow cannot enter Silverymoon on a whim?" Entreri asked. "Not even you have that much power or charm."

"Such a biting tongue!" But Jarlaxle's smile faded a touch, leaving him seeming lost in thought.

Several minutes passed in comfortable silence as Entreri considered telling Jarlaxle about the odd elf he'd seen. Ultimately, though, he dismissed the incident. "Any news of interest from Kimmuriel?" he asked snidely, for of course Jarlaxle had given no such reason for his excursion.

"Only that yet another drow wishes me dead," Jarlaxle answered, flippant.

Entreri admired his gleaming blade. "Such fools there are among you."

Jarlaxle's smile returned at the indirect, and perhaps unintentional, compliment. "Why, thank—" He stopped mid-sentence, a calculating look blooming upon his face.

"That's never good," Entreri remarked, noting the expression. By this point, Jarlaxle's grin had turned wicked. "In fact," the assassin continued, deadpan, "that is very bad, indeed."

"Oh, but it could be good. Kimmuriel mentioned some ruins which we could—" Jarlaxle stopped and blinked. "Wait. Did you just tease me?"

"No."

"Yes, I believe you did!"

"No."

Jarlaxle laughed. "Oh, but I've caught you this time!"

"I am still holding my dagger," the assassin said.

A knock sounded at the door, and since the mercenaries were not expecting company, they immediately jumped to their feet, Entreri with his weapon ready.

"Master Entreri? Master Jarlaxle?" called a voice through the door. "Are you there? It is Tai Vatoshie."

"Tai?" Jarlaxle repeated, and Entreri shared in his shock. They hadn't seen the priest of Hoar in over half a year, and now he'd shown up at their doorstep? Not to mention that Tai had been supposedly headed to Silverymoon when they parted, and that would place him hundreds of miles away from their current location.

"Please allow me to enter," answered the familiar voice. "It's urgent!"

Entreri and Jarlaxle traded glances. Trouble, it seemed, was not finished with them for the evening.

* * *

_(1)— T.S. Eliot, "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock." All quotes used at the beginning of subsequent chapters are by the same poet and from the same poem._

_A/N: As always, I want to go ahead and thank darkhelmetj and Matt for beta reading my story. Thank you—your help has been priceless! _

I've been forewarned by a beta reader that the title I chose is similar to something that has been published. I've tried to alter the title slightly for that reason, although I'm not breaking copyright law because of the difference in medium and because this is nonprofit. However, I wanted to acknowledge my awareness.

_Thank you to all who review!_


	2. Chapter 2

"_There will be time, there will be time  
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet"_

**Chapter Two**

Tai sat on Entreri's bed, and Jarlaxle sat in the chair across from him. Entreri took a moment to light a second oil lamp, suspecting the young priest would not be able to see in the gloom as well as either Jarlaxle or he. The additional light revealed the thread-bareness of the linens and the layer of dust coating the furniture, but like Entreri, Tai seemed to either not notice or not care about the room's shabbiness.

Entreri sat by the boy and inspected him closely in the momentary silence that followed. Tai's black hair had grown until it now brushed his shoulders, and his royal blue cloak seemed just as new as it had eight months earlier. However, the sixteen-year-old seemed tired and agitated; his narrow shoulders slumped.

Jarlaxle had crossed his legs and folded his hands in his lap. "Very well. Tell us what has happened."

"I would like to hire you," the priest said.

"Hire us? You?" Entreri asked.

"Yes. I'll pay you as best I can, but I need your help." Tai's overly-large brown eyes seemed to implore them.

Jarlaxle held out a calming hand. "Do not worry of that just yet. Simply explain your circumstances."

Tai inhaled deeply. "When I reached Silverymoon, I met a woman named Nyx, with whom I began working to carry out my duties to Hoar. We only remained in Silverymoon for a short time, in fact, before traveling south, where we came across plenty of people in need of retribution. But in the course of our travels, we came across some highly disturbing and dangerous information: someone is searching the ruins of the High Forest in an attempt to find the _Kagaor ki Tamal._"

Entreri and Jarlaxle traded glances, and the elf shrugged, indicating that he'd never heard of it. Entreri turned back to Tai. "And what, exactly, is the _Kagaor ki Tamal?_"

"We weren't sure, ourselves," Tai admitted, "but it seemed important, so when we reached Nyx's childhood village, Olostin's Hold, we asked her great uncle, who had worked in Silverymoon as a scribe for most of his life. He was mortified at the thought that anyone would search for the item, much less find it."

Jarlaxle appeared quite curious now. "Oh? Why?"

"The words _kagaor ki tamal_ translate into common as _convergence of mirror_; in other words, this artifact is called The Mirror of Convergence. Supposedly, it's an ancient saurian relic."

"Saurian?" Entreri asked.

"The saurians were one of the five creator races of Faerun," Jarlaxle answered briefly. "Think of the yuan-ti, who are their descendants: humanoid head, arms, and chest, but a snake-like lower body."

Entreri shrugged; he knew very little about the yuan-ti, either. At least he'd heard of them. The assassin narrowed his eyes for a moment. Jarlaxle sure had a great deal of knowledge about many things—not just magical items, but ancient empires like those of the Netherese and the saurians. How old was Jarlaxle, and how or why did he come by so much knowledge?

"According to those we've asked, no one knows how the mirror works," Tai had continued, "only that it bestows great power upon the wielder. There are many rumors concerning this: some say the mirror summons demons from the abyss, and others claim the mirror intensifies the _ki_ or life energy of anyone who gazes into it, granting them powers. But the most disturbing rumor holds that the mirror opened a direct channel to the god Sseth. I say 'opened' because from my communing with Hoar, I have learned that Set has taken charge of Sseth's domain . . . which leaves me to wonder with whom the mirror would put one in direct contact: Sseth or Set." The priest shuddered. "It really doesn't matter which rumor is true—they're all bad. Obviously, it's a relic that should be left in the ruins."

"Fascinating," Jarlaxle commented, looking already deep into thought.

Tai smiled. "Well, upon learning these things, I decided to contact you two because the job seemed like the type of delicate one that would require . . . a stealthy approach. With the help of wizard friend of Nyx's, I was able to both locate you and reach you easily." The young priest straightened his shoulders. "Which brings me to my request: I wish for you to accompany us on a quest to stop whoever is trying to recover this mirror."

"To stop them?" Entreri raised an eyebrow. "How does this serve your god? I thought Hoar was the god of retribution and poetic justice."

Tai cringed. "In my communing with Hoar, my god has impressed upon me his displeasure over the thought of a mirror which could potentially increase Set's power." The priest took a deep breath. "Let me see if I can explain this . . . during the time I spend communing with Hoar, I sometimes gain knowledge he has or get impressions of him. I get the sense Hoar is somehow angry with the Mulhorandi deities, of which Set is one. Although I do get the sense that most of Hoar's anger is directed at one of the other Mulhorandi deities, I know Hoar would not be fond of Set simply because he promotes evil for evil's sake. At any rate, the issue of this mirror has caught Hoar's attention."

Entreri's gaze was wandering off, but Jarlaxle nodded. "I see. So if your friend, Nyx, is accompanying you on this quest, does that mean that she is a cleric of Hoar as well?"

"No, not a cleric," Tai replied. "Actually, she's a monk, but yes, she serves Hoar."

Jarlaxle fingered his chin with one delicate finger. What were the odds that the seeker or seekers of the relic were Bregan D'aerthe's scout party? He calculated for a few minutes, then came to the conclusion that it was unlikely. The scouts were indeed looking for treasure in the ruins, but Kimmuriel had indicated they were looking into establishing a supply, not searching for a specific piece. Besides, the scouts were trained to move with discretion, and their designs would not be so easily discovered. However, in the off chance they were the seekers, Jarlaxle would punish them himself for failing to have said discretion.

The elf, of course, conveniently ignored the fact he'd once raised two crystalline towers in open daylight for the world to see.

"It could be interesting," Jarlaxle commented at length, immediately adding in side excursions and alternate plans to ensure the adventure would prove profitable, for he had no interest in a mirror that might be a direct channel to Set. In the pause that followed, Jarlaxle glanced across at Entreri, who was frowning, but the mercenary suspected he wouldn't disagree—Entreri had been bored recently with no one to challenge his skills.

"Well, it's something," the assassin said.

Tai smiled, a nearly blinding flash of white teeth. "Excellent! Nyx is staying in Secomber and has already secured a magical means of getting us to Olostin's Hold quickly. Our search, you see, will need to start in that part of the High Forest."

"Very well," Jarlaxle said, standing, "we'll leave early in the morning for Secomber."

* * *

It was half-past midnight before the priest of Hoar had finished communing with his god and receiving the divine power to cast spells for the following day. Yet although Tai felt exhausted, he couldn't fall asleep. From his spot in Jarlaxle's bed, Tai glanced around the room, which the elf had graciously offered to share with him. In the pale white moonlight, he could make out Jarlaxle sitting cross-legged in the floor, apparently deep in Reverie. In the opposite bed, Entreri was curled on his side, facing the door, a dagger stuck in the wall above him. With his face relaxed in sleep, the assassin looked younger, almost innocent, especially with the glow of the moonlight falling over his features. However, the fact that he slept facing the door, a weapon within easy reach, denoted the man's real mindset—particularly since the single dirty window and the door were both thoroughly trapped.

Tai sighed softly in the still silence. In the months since he'd last seen his newfound friends, he'd learned a great deal. His stay in Silverymoon had been quite enlightening since he'd run across several people who'd heard of Entreri and even a few who'd heard of Jarlaxle. And what he'd learned left Tai feeling disillusioned and foolish. _It's not that I was completely blind,_ he consoled himself. _I knew they were mercenaries, and I knew Entreri was an assassin. But the stories I heard!_

Tai sighed again, reaching up to rub his eyes. At one point, he'd come to the conclusion that the priest of Tyr who had pursued them had been correct in his desire to carry out retribution upon Entreri. Furthermore, when Tai had learned a story about Entreri and a heroic drow named Drizzt Do'Urden, he'd realized that Socor and Entreri had possessed some similarities . . . and Tai had been out to kill Socor in the name of Hoar.

But when Tai thought through all that had occurred between himself, Jarlaxle, and Entreri—and the fact they'd saved him from Socor—he had to recant the negative thoughts. Some sliver of good existed in each of them, and if it could be reached, it would be worth the effort. Plus Tai could not deny that he still wished to convert Entreri to the ways of Hoar. And the pain Entreri carried deep inside, a pain Tai had glimpsed, made the priest wish to do so all the more.

The young priest glanced across at the sleeping assassin again and wondered just what the man truly thought of him. They'd seemed to connect just a bit during their time spent chasing Socor, but . . . Tai smiled wistfully. No, he didn't just want to convert him. He wanted to befriend him.

With a final sigh, Tai rolled over and fell into a restless sleep.

* * *

The following morning, the group left on horseback for Secomber. Despite the fact Tai rode with Jarlaxle, they took the road at a good pace, wanting to reach the town within one day. Not far out of Zelbross, however, a terrific thunderstorm overtook the morning, the black clouds dropping the wooded landscape into near darkness. Chest-rattling thunderclaps swallowed the pounding of the horses' hooves as lightening streaked across the sky. Torrential rains drenched the riders and the ground, slowing the group's progress slightly, but they still reached Secomber by nightfall.

And so it was that a wet, muddy, and moody Entreri rode into the peaceful town of fishermen and farmers and frowned at everything he saw. Jarlaxle and Tai, who were laughing over an apparently humorous story, rode ahead of him toward an inn called The Cat and Kipper, which presented itself as a fine establishment with its three stories of brownstone and black shutters. The courtyard, however, was nothing but a sea of mud—not that Entreri had ever minded dirt given that he'd spent a lifetime sneaking through sewers. Still, even the assassin sighed when he dismounted and sank three inches into the muck, especially since his nose told him that there was more to the muck than mud. Even the incessant rain couldn't wash away the smell of horse feces.

Entreri glanced over at Jarlaxle as he carefully dismounted from his black mare—of which he was much enamored—and patted the sweaty horse's neck. Maybe Entreri's growing fastidiousness was a result of Jarlaxle's influence; the drow was always clean and tidy. The assassin wasn't sure.

Entreri sighed. He wasn't sure about much anymore. He turned back to his horse and unbuckled the saddlebags so the waiting stable boy could take the horse. Here he was, charging off into some unknown adventure, and for what purpose? Because he was bored? When he thought through all his alternatives, though, nothing presented itself as more appealing. Even if he thought it possible to return to Calimport and try to reestablish himself as an assassin, the option didn't hold any allure. Entreri had ever been a man of action, not reflection, but recent events and unavoidable ponderings had revealed too many truths for the assassin to simply return to the way things were. He couldn't go backwards, but he wasn't sure what forwards meant. What did he really want to do with the rest of his life? How did he want to live it? Not as a man who was anything like his father, that much he knew, but he realized that ultimately gave him little help in deciding a direction.

Entreri slung the saddlebag over his shoulder and glanced back at Jarlaxle, who was once again laughing with Tai. Of course, the other part of his question was something that bore directly upon his companion: did the direction he wanted to go in include friends? Did it include flamboyant drow mercenaries?

When Tai and Jarlaxle had collected their saddlebags, the group made their way across the courtyard with Entreri frowning more grimly than ever.

"Ah, to be traveling on my own two feet," Tai said happily as they entered the inn, which greeted them with a warm fire and soft murmur of voices.

"You make little sense, my friend," Jarlaxle said, removing his floppy hat and shaking the rain from it. "You'll permit a wizard to teleport you over a hundred miles, but you dislike riding horses!"

Entreri glanced around the dim tavern, but the patrons continued talking over their ales or stews without looking up. The smell of smoke, beef, and freshly baked bread invited the assassin to relax, but he couldn't. Not when a crowd of mostly men—some of them with swords—would eventually notice the drow who had walked in with him.

However, Tai and the drow in question continued their conversation as though nothing could go amiss. The priest was grinning at Jarlaxle. "I am quite comfortable with magic, so teleportation would never bother me. But why would my comfort with magic make it odd for me to dislike riding horses?"

"Never mind." Jarlaxle put his hat back on and shook his head. "Do I dare ask what you think of traveling by ship?"

Even in the dimness of the inn's tavern, Entreri could see Tai grow pale. "Definitely not."

"So you shall travel all Faerun by foot?" the assassin asked with a snicker.

"Not at all!" Tai's grin nearly split his face. "I'll simply grow enough in Hoar's divine favor to wind walk."

Entreri watched amusement light the boy's eyes. "Fair enough," the assassin conceded in spite of his foul mood.

Jarlaxle turned away, but not before Entreri saw a small smile turn up the corners of his mouth. _Why is he so pleased?_ the assassin thought, irritated, but he had little time to consider the question, for Jarlaxle headed toward the innkeeper. While the drow's posture was relaxed, Entreri felt himself tense, and beside him, Tai also seemed to hold his breath.

"Secomber is usually kind to travelers—especially adventurers," Tai whispered to the assassin. "But since our friend is drow . . ."

"You have no idea," Entreri whispered in agreement before he could stop himself.

The innkeeper, a thin old man who towered over Jarlaxle by half a foot, stared with suspicion at the companions as they approached the bar. "What ye be doin' here?" he asked, his pale grey eyes narrowing.

"Why, we wish to have a warm meal and a room at your fine establishment!" Jarlaxle said with his most charming grin. He whisked off his wide-rimmed hat and bowed to the man.

Entreri crossed his arms and inconspicuously placed his hands near his weapons' hilts.

"I won't be servin' no drow," the man replied, wrinkling his nose.

Entreri's already foul mood sank into a simmering fury that threatened to match the black clouds and booming thunder outside.

"Of course not, sir!" Jarlaxle agreed, replacing his hat, and the innkeeper looked nonplussed. "You would never serve an evil, destructive person of any race. However, I am not a drow come from the Underdark to destroy villages or rule the world. I am simply a traveler, an adventurer, an occasional bounty hunter."

The tavern had grown quiet and still as all eyes turned Jarlaxle's way, and Entreri sensed the fight coming. The innkeeper frowned, and the effect lengthened his face, making his nose seem to protrude like a beak. The man looked over Entreri and Tai, and seeming no more pleased, returned his attention to Jarlaxle. "Bounty hunters?" The man grunted. "I can't figure the boy, but it seems like a fittin'ly low profession for the likes of a drow and a desert shit."

Entreri narrowed his eyes but did not respond to the racial slur. As someone who had found ample cause, in his opinion, to hate all humans, Entreri had never bothered to differentiate among humans of different races, nationalities, sexes, or—to a certain extent—classes. To him, people were either smart or stupid, successful or failures, practical or foolish, self-controlled or debased. And they could be any of these regardless of their exteriors or origins. Still, he did not enjoy being referred to by such an insulting term.

Jarlaxle had glanced at Entreri, probably to see if he were going to react violently or not, then turned back to the innkeeper. "Now there is no need to be offensive, good sir. We're not here to cause trouble or—"

"If ye don't want to cause trouble, then git out!" the innkeeper replied. A rustle and rumbling started up among the patrons.

A young woman with a braid of auburn hair stepped from the shadows near the bar and approached the innkeeper. "Now Goodman McFadden, there is no need to be concerned." She gestured toward the companions. "The boy here is a priest and my traveling companion, and the other two are indeed bounty hunters who he's hired to help us track down some murderers up north." She smiled, revealing straight, white teeth. "Please, allow them to stay."

The room grew quiet again as the innkeeper locked gazes with the small woman. Since she wore a sleeveless leather vest, Entreri could see the finely toned muscles of her arms, but this strong quality was counteracted by her being a few inches shorter, even, than he. This put her at a disadvantage when engaging in a staring battle with a man a foot taller than she. Still, after several tense moments, the man conceded and gave them a room, and Entreri had to admit he was slightly impressed.

At her request, the men followed the woman over to her table, and Entreri walked behind her, sizing up her weaponry: a kukri was strapped to each of her thighs, and nunchaku swung on her belt. But her graceful and confident gait told Entreri all he really needed to know. This woman was a highly trained fighter.

Once the group was seated, a nervous barmaid approached and took their orders; after she left, Tai smiled at his companions. "Masters Entreri and Jarlaxle, I am very pleased to introduce you to Nyx Jassan, Holy Javelin of Hoar. Nyx, this is Artemis Entreri," Tai gestured to the assassin, "and Jarlaxle." He then gestured toward the drow.

"Pleased to meet you," Jarlaxle said, inclining his head to her, "and our thanks for your help with the innkeeper."

"You're welcome," Nyx said, her expression noncommittal. She seemed a bit wary of the drow herself.

"Holy _Javelin_?" Entreri repeated, skipping the greetings.

"Yes," Nyx replied. "Because of my dedication to Hoar, I have been given a great honor: the title of Holy Javelin, or she who strikes with pure justice and unrelenting vengeance."

"You're a zealot." Entreri paraphrased bluntly.

The monk snickered. "Not at all. Just single-minded and determined. I punish, by poetic justice, those deserving retribution by the judgment of Hoar. Nothing more than that, but never anything less, either." She smirked.

"I see." Entreri narrowed his eyes and considered the woman. _Jassan._ It was a Calishite surname. Actually, when he thought about it, he realized the name Nyx was Calishite as well. The assassin inspected Nyx carefully, for with her auburn hair, she didn't look like a Southerner. Still, she had dark brown eyes and a slightly darker complexion than the average redhead, qualities caused by her Calishite heritage, no doubt. Also, she was short and small-boned like most Calishite women. Speed. Agility. These would be her greatest attributes.

"Do I meet your approval?" Nyx asked somewhat dryly.

Entreri held in his reaction. "That is yet to be seen," he replied, deadpan.

Nyx laughed while Tai looked between them in a nervous fashion. Jarlaxle grinned, but the mischievous glint in his eyes told Entreri the elf was up to no good.

"Don't make me hurt you," Entreri said, looking at Jarlaxle.

Jarlaxle sat back in his chair and smiled the wickedest smile Entreri had ever seen. "Whatever do you mean, my dear friend?" The elf held one hand to his chest in an innocent gesture that was utterly defeated by his naughty expression. "I am being a good little elf."

Entreri snorted with laughter over that impossibility. What nefarious plot was the drow hatching now?

Tai chuckled, and Nyx looked at all three of them like they were mad. "Don't mind them," the priest told his friend. "They're quite incorrigible, it's true, but it's nothing for you to be concerned with."

"We'll see," she mumbled.

Their meal proceeded amicably, with Jarlaxle and Tai telling the monk a decidedly animated version of their battle with Socor and Entreri remaining silent. When both the meal and story were finished, Entreri and Jarlaxle excused themselves to carry their saddlebags up to their room.

"Well?" Tai asked his friend.

Nyx frowned, watching the pair climb the stairs. The drow was an odd one: slender and delicate, he was cat-like in his grace, as a drow should be, but smiles lighted his eyes and face with uncharacteristic brightness. His fine black traveling cloak and white linen shirt were normal enough, but the great purple hat with its overwhelming plume and the red eye patch were strange. His many earrings, necklaces, and rings were all made of the finest gold, but he had so many that his taste seemed only one step shy of garish. Most jarring of all, however, was his easy laugh and charm. It was not at all what Nyx expected from a drow. The elf was a mystery—perhaps too much of one.

The human was easier to figure out, but Nyx was not comforted by that fact. Like the drow, Entreri was handsome, slender, and lithe. He struck quite a figure in his fine black cloak, leather pants, and black shirt, which was unbuttoned a few buttons, showing a bit of his chest. His thick black hair, which was partially concealed by a flat, small-rimmed hat, was tied by into a ponytail, and a neatly trimmed goatee complimented his face. High cheekbones accented fine grey eyes nicely. However, the dark eyes held no warmth, and the man's piercing gaze spoke of a life lived in the shadows. Also, for a man who was obviously Calishite, he had an unusual grey pallor to his naturally tan skin—it was faint, but Nyx could detect it. What did the pallor mean? The man did not seem ill, an explanation which would have been the most logical. That detail, mixed with what little Nyx already knew of the man named Artemis Entreri, made her uncomfortable.

"Your friends are dangerous," Nyx answered at last. She thought a moment longer. "It's odd that the drow carries no visible weapons, but the assassin carries two very fine weapons. I can tell without even having to see the blades." She glanced at the priest. "If what you have said of them is true, I suppose I cannot retract my agreement to your plan. However, since we are headed into a situation full of unknowns, I admit I am hesitant to have such people at my back. I only hope I presented myself as calm and confident to them."

Tai nodded, accepting the answer. "You did, I assure you. Your concerns are sensible, of course, but remember that Hoar has led us to ask their help. This must be the best path."

Nyx snorted. "Don't forget that the last time you followed Hoar's guidance to work with these two, you were nearly killed."

Tai smiled. "Ah, but I am still alive, and Socor is dead."

The monk didn't join in the smile.

* * *

Mordecai of Bregan D'aerthe dismissed his scrying spell and snickered to himself. "So my esteemed, absentee leader has teamed up with two further humans," he murmured to himself. "How . . . pathetic." The drow turned away from his scrying bowl to look out the window; from the tower which served as his new base of operations, Mordecai could see miles of the landscape. "Jarlaxle has become polluted—weak!" the drow hissed to himself, his lip curling in disgust. The expression warped his narrow features.

How could Jarlaxle leave Bregan D'aerthe to pursue such lowly things? Truly, Mordecai did not understand it, for the mercenary band of males seemed a beautiful thing to him, not merely a powerful tool, given his great hatred of Lolth. He despised everything about Lolth: her priestesses, her agents, and her creed, which subjugated males. If he could have killed the goddess himself, he would have.

Pushing the enraging thoughts away, Mordecai turned from the window and paced the room. In his 111 years of life, he had never undertaken such an important task as his current one. In his 111 years, he had never been so committed to a mission. Of course, his plan was perfect; he entertained no doubts. And not only would his plan result in lovely chaos and destruction, it would be entertaining. Very entertaining.

But, unfortunately, the first step in that plan was to kill Jarlaxle's lackey, Artemis Entreri—a not so entertaining task. Mordecai hated the human, didn't want to even share the same room with him. Given that fact, perhaps the drow should go ahead and finish this unpleasant task.

Yes, perhaps it was time to rid the world of Artemis Entreri.

* * *

_A/N:On Jarlaxle's clothes—I took the description of Jarlaxle's latest outfit from "Wickless in the Nether," although I did add the detail about the material the shirt is made from. _

For those of you who read or watch InuYasha,_ I'd like to acknowledge the nod I make in this chapter toward one of my favorite manga/anime, which inspired me to use a mirror instead of a ring or a crystal shard. ;) _

Finally, if you're interested in FR deities, you might like to know all that information about Hoar and the Mulhorandi deities is right out of the book. Hoar hates Anhur and, to a lesser extent, the Mulhorandi pantheon from which he sprang. According to Faiths and Pantheons,_ Anhur stole from Hoar the portfolio of Ramman after Hoar slew him during the Time of Troubles. Hoar has been out for revenge ever since. As for the "Holy Javelin," I gave myself creative license and created the title based on what little information is given about Hoar._


	3. Chapter 3

"_And time yet for a hundred indecisions,  
And for a hundred visions and revisions" _

**Chapter 3**

Entreri stared out the window, noting that the rain had finally ceased. Midnight approached, and the town had grown quiet for the night. Torchlight reflected off the wet cobblestones of the main thoroughfare and revealed the courtyard to still be an ocean of muck. The cloud cover rendered the night completely black, without moon or stars. The silence that now shrouded both the town and the inn was almost eerie in its totality.

Behind Entreri, however, several candles and a fire brightened the room. The assassin turned to face Jarlaxle, who had visited the bathhouse built onto the back of the inn. The elf had returned clean and refreshed and now lay on his bed, atop the linens, watching the assassin with a small grin.

"What?" Entreri snapped.

Jarlaxle chuckled. "She might not be the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, but she is still quite striking."

"By 'she,' I assume you mean Nyx," Entreri said, padding across the thick maroon carpet and straddling the dressing table chair. He crossed his arms over the chair back and stared at the drow. So this was what the sneaky mercenary was about.

"Of course," Jarlaxle answered. "And do not pretend that you did not notice!"

Actually, Entreri hadn't noticed. Oh, he supposed he'd registered the fact during his assessment of her, but it wasn't something he'd thought about during supper or during the later conversation about their travel plans, much less afterwards.

Jarlaxle smirked. "Actually, I think her temperament might be similar to your own. Perhaps you should not consider her beauty—the two of you together might be explosive. In a bad sense, I mean."

Entreri sighed over Jarlaxle's lewd innuendo. "Are you conspiring to set me up with a woman, Jarlaxle? Why ever would you do that?"

The elf grinned. "Because I think it might ease that perpetually sour expression from your face."

Entreri shook his head. "Don't be ridiculous," he said, disregarding the implied insult. "I have not the time, the lifestyle, nor the inclination to invest myself in such a relationship."

"Is that so?" Jarlaxle's eyes seemed to glitter with amusement.

Entreri ignored him and stood. "I believe I shall go bathe now."

"Yes, please do," Jarlaxle replied.

Entreri ignored that, too. He collected fresh clothes, slipping his dagger between the layers, and headed downstairs. The assassin had not expected an inn so far north to have a communal bathhouse, and the situation did not please him. Entreri hated bathhouses—they were loud, potentially unsafe, and lacked privacy. Of course, waiting until midnight did ensure him quiet and privacy, but it did not make him feel any safer.

Still, when Entreri entered the men's bathhouse, he had to admit it was nice. Decorative white and navy tiles, which were arranged in lazy spiral patterns, covered the floor and walls. The entryway contained shelves for possessions—although Entreri carried his clothes (and dagger) with him—and the front of the room had stools, sinks, and various supplies for cleaning oneself. In the back was an expansive pool, apparently fed by a hot spring. Steam hung in the air, blurring the light from torches burning in the wall sconces.

Thankfully, Entreri was alone, as he'd hoped. Stripping naked, he washed away the day's grime and mud, traces of which clung to him despite earlier efforts to clean up. Once finished, he carried both his clothes and a towel over to the pool and set them on the edge before stepping into the hot water. Stone benches had been crafted along the edges of the pool, so with an unconscious sigh, Entreri eased back and propped an arm on the edge, keeping his hand near his hidden dagger. It was pleasant. He'd never admit it to anyone, but it was. He breathed in the steam, and although he wouldn't close his eyes, he allowed himself to relax just a fraction.

Several minutes passed in utter silence, and Entreri enjoyed the quiet. Despite the fact he'd trained himself to tolerate noise—loud Calimport streets, loud guild house celebrations, loud battles—he actually hated rackets. It had started during his childhood; loud noises had begun to grate on his nerves. Entreri breathed in deeply, allowing the thought to float away from him. Nevertheless, he acknowledged that silence was to be treasured; his favorite jobs had been the ones that occurred in quiet rooms or in the relative stillness of the sewers at night.

After a stretch of peace, Entreri realized he was growing sleepy and sat up straighter. The water lapped against his body as he moved, and he looked down at his chest, which glistened with water, and considered both the muscles and faint pallor he found there. He and Jarlaxle had never again spoken of the shade's life force which now ran in his veins, but Entreri was growing suspicious. He'd noticed three things: one, he could see better in the dark; two, others apparently had a harder time seeing him when he was concealed in darkness; and three, he felt younger. Not much younger, but just enough to be noticed. He'd once told Dwahvel that he'd slightly slowed with age, but now . . . now he was no longer sure that the loss of speed remained.

No longer sure. Not sure.

Entreri sighed with faint irritation and decided it was time to get out. He was thinking too much. He started to stand, and it was at that exact moment that he intuited he was no longer alone. In an instant, the silence of the room turned sinister, and the steamy haze became dangerous. Entreri finished standing as though he'd noted nothing and reached for his towel, using the action to hide the retrieval of his dagger. He climbed out of the pool with a calculated grace which splashed the water very little and kept the dagger hidden behind the towel. He listened carefully, glanced about the room, but heard and saw nothing.

His intuition was never wrong, though, and he didn't relish his position. While he did have his dagger and his hand-to-hand combat skills, he was standing naked and wet on slick tiles. For the first time, he wondered if he should have sacrificed some of his privacy for the benefit of added safety, and it was not an easy question to answer.

To his left, a flash of movement through the steam caught his attention. Entreri realized there was no use in pretending he was unaware—the only way he could fain ignorance was to start drying off, and that would tie up both hands and make the dagger harder to hide. So instead, Entreri looked directly to his left and searched both the steam and shadows for further movement.

Then, suddenly, every hair on the back of Entreri's neck stood up straight as his sixth sense yelled that the intruder was directly behind him.

"Good," came a strangely familiar voice as Entreri tensed, "but not good enough."

Entreri whirled around, brandishing his jeweled dagger just in time to deflect the dagger which was meant to have severed his spine. Red eyes locked gazes with him, and Entreri recognized with a jolt the wood elf he'd seen in Zelbross . . . except that the creature before him now had ebony skin and shortly cropped white hair. "You!" he hissed.

"Me!" the drow replied in a lilting voice, withdrawing his dagger and unsheathing a second dagger which was strapped to his thigh.

Entreri jumped back, sliding slightly on the tiles, and tried to give himself some space. The drow rushed him, though, slashing at him with double strikes that Entreri was hard-pressed to block with his single dagger. He had to get a second weapon, or he had little hope of winning even with the best of his handwork. Mentally, he inventoried the room, even as he deflected the drow's strikes, and tried to recall anything useful. There were stools . . . maybe he could break off a leg or employ them in a trick. With his signature calm cunning, he manipulated the fight to move in that direction.

With a sneer on his lips, the drow pushed forward in the face of what must have seemed like a retreat, and Entreri held the attacks off with his dagger in one hand and unarmed strikes or blocks with the other. Unfortunately, the drow was too fine of a fighter—Entreri was getting cut and slashed. It was a pure testament to his skill that he wasn't already dead.

"Pathetic worm," the drow taunted as he tried to slip a dagger between Entreri's defenses, yet his red eyes shone with frustration when he failed in his strike. Apparently enraged over not having killed the lowly human yet, the drow stomped forward with his boot, trying to crush Entreri's foot. The assassin took advantage of both the move and the rage, and he not only dodged the attack, he slipped his foot around and caught the drow's ankle, tripping him. Unfortunately, they both went down on the slippery tiles, and the drow grabbed Entreri so he'd land on top of him. The assassin tried to position his dagger so that the drow would impale himself in the process, but the drow was a step ahead of him—he struck out, mostly deflecting the blade, and his armor protected him against the rest. The drow quickly brought one dagger to rest against Entreri's throat.

The reality of the situation sank into Entreri in that moment: he was lying on his back, naked, underneath a drow who had a blade against his throat. In his nightmares, he had never dreamt a worse scenario.

Fortunately, the drow seemed to only want to kill him. "To the nine hells with you," he spat, and Entreri saw his death in the drow's eyes. The assassin's mind scrambled to find a counterattack or defense, but suddenly the drow jerked to the side as though dodging something. A throwing dagger buried itself in his shoulder. The drow cursed and jumped off of Entreri to dive into a roll. A series of daggers followed him, one catching in his boot heel and two others catching in his cloak. As he came to his feet, the drow pulled something from a pouch and threw it at the ground; he vanished, then, in a poof of orange smoke.

Entreri lay flat on his back a moment longer, calming his racing pulse as the adrenaline eased from his system. Jarlaxle's face entered his line of vision a moment later, and the elf's look of concern only partially counteracted his expression of anger. He knelt by Entreri. "Are you all right?"

Entreri started to sit up, and Jarlaxle grabbed his elbow, pulling him up as well. "I've been worse . . . and better." He looked down at the dozen gashes which bled freely from several places on his body. The sweat and water on his skin mixed with some of the blood, turning it pink as it traced over his muscles. "Well, I was clean . . ." He looked up at Jarlaxle. "Why did you come down here?"

"You had been gone to long," Jarlaxle replied. "You never take so long to bathe."

Entreri smirked, but he didn't even bother to pretend he hadn't needed the help. "Thank you."

Jarlaxle nodded, and the look of anger returned. "It disturbs me that you were attacked so."

"What do you mean?" Entreri watched as Jarlaxle stood and went to gather his towel and clothes.

"The drow who attacked you is named Mordecai," Jarlaxle answered. "I don't suppose you remember him? He was with those I brought to Calimport."

Entreri stood and accepted the towel from Jarlaxle. "No."

"I suppose that's not surprising—he wasn't holding any unique position at the time. He's the leader of a scout party now. I . . . recently learned that he wishes to kill me, which is nothing unusual in and of itself. Half the drow in Bregan D'aerthe ultimately wanted to kill me and take my place. But that he would attack you first . . ."

Entreri paused in drying himself off and stared at Jarlaxle as a thousand questions descended upon him. There were several missing details and logical leaps in the drow's narrative, but before he could ask anything, Jarlaxle continued.

"I suppose that Mordecai's attack upon you is a type of compliment—he gave you enough credit to bother trying to kill you in his quest to kill me." Jarlaxle's smile was grim. "Still . . ." The elf frowned, and for a moment he looked uncomfortable, as though he were surprised to be so angry.

Entreri wrapped the towel around himself and considered his friend for a moment. Of course Entreri would have to be eliminated in any attack on Jarlaxle: not only might the he get in the way of the assassination attempt, he simply knew too much about the drow and was an abomination to drow sensibilities—he was a talented, smart human. Entreri knew that the attack upon him this night had been both logical and well-planned—Jarlaxle should simply acknowledge it as such with one of his dark, wry grins and start his counter-planning.

But the elf was instead frowning at Entreri and looking perplexed. The assassin had a moment's insight, then, about the mystery called friendship, and he reached out and briefly squeezed Jarlaxle's shoulder. "It angers you." Stated as a fact. "That is understandable."

The usually glib mercenary, who always had a reply for everything, accepted this comment without a word.

* * *

Entreri's scowl in the morning was more dour than usual. When he and Jarlaxle joined Nyx and Tai in the courtyard, Tai apparently noted this fact, for the priest drifted over to Entreri's side and gazed up at him with concern. The boy had been attentive to Entreri practically from the moment they'd met, and that thoughtful consideration caused in Entreri a mixed reaction which he refused to unravel.

The assassin held Tai's gaze for a moment and shook his head, indicating that Tai not ask, for Entreri and Jarlaxle had decided not to tell their companions of the attack—not a difficult feat to accomplish since Jarlaxle had healed all Entreri's wounds. Tai took the cue and nodded, but his expression of concern did not abate. The assassin appreciated this specific facet of the priest's personality; he never pursued a subject once Entreri had indicated it was off limits. For a bare instant, the assassin's mood faintly lifted.

However, nature seemed to be conspiring against the assassin, which soured his mood once again. The storms had passed, leaving the bright spring morning to intrude upon Entreri's sensibilities: the sun beamed down upon cheerfully singing birds and awakened the dazzling red and yellow tulips planted in the courtyard garden. Likewise, the people of Secomber thrived in the brisk morning air, shouting and laughing together as they traveled through the courtyard and street. Entreri growled to himself softly. Noise. Too much noise.

"Be of good cheer, my friend!" Jarlaxle exclaimed, slapping the assassin's shoulder. "A normally long and arduous trip is being much shortened for us thanks to Lady Nyx's efforts!"

The redhead in question snorted. "Just Nyx. My status as Holy Javelin does not confer upon me any titles, nor am I noble-blooded." Today her auburn braid was wound in a tight crown around her head. Like the day before, she wore a leather vest, and although she had donned a weather-beaten grey cloak, it was thrown off her shoulders to reveal her bare, muscular arms.

Entreri noted the woman's practical attire and looked to Tai, pointing at the priest's royal blue cloak. "You really should purchase a cloak the color of mine or Nyx's. The blue makes you stand out too much."

Tai smiled, mischief sparkling in his dark eyes. "Why ever would I want to blend in with everyone else? And grey is such a drab color!"

"Better to look drab than to die because your enemies spotted you too easily," Entreri replied.

Nyx watched the exchange with a raised eyebrow. "The man has a point."

"Not at all!" Jarlaxle said. "You and Artemis merely lack fashion sense."

Entreri smirked. "Fashion sense? You? Your hat is nearly large enough to constitute its own nation." He started to continue but noted the stable boy, who was approaching with two horses. "But enough of this nonsense. I know Tai doesn't have a horse, but do you, Nyx?"

The monk shook her head. "No, my friend Evendur the White teleported me here to a wizard he knows, just as he teleported Tai to Zelbross. My horse is back in Olostin's Hold."

Entreri sighed, taking the reins of his chestnut stallion from the stable boy and tossing him a coin. "I guess we'll have to double up, then. How far is it to the wizard's?"

"Just a few miles out of town," Nyx replied.

Entreri flung his saddlebag across his horse's back and secured it without acknowledging her answer. He supposed he should be grateful that the monk had such good connections, but his foul mood did not relent.

Jarlaxle had secured his saddlebag as well and was now stroking his horse's neck. "Ah, such fine animals. Well, how should we pair up?"

Nyx frowned, and it was obvious to Entreri that she didn't wish to ride with either of them.

"I'll ride with Jarlaxle," Tai offered, no doubt thinking that Nyx would be more comfortable riding with a human than a drow.

"Or Entreri could ride with Jarlaxle, and you and I could ride Entreri's horse," Nyx replied with a small smile.

"I'm complimented that you fear me so," Entreri said, casting her a sideways glance.

Nyx glared at him. "It is not a matter of fear. I simply do not cherish the thought of riding with a complete stranger."

Entreri grinned at her just to irritate her. "Fine." He gestured to the saddle. "Climb on, then, if you are unafraid." A wicked thought struck him. "In a show of trust, I'll even allow you to guide."

Nyx stared him down for several seconds, and Entreri wondered that his skin was not blasted off his face. He felt like snickering but didn't.

"Very well," she said at last and mounted the horse.

Entreri traded a look with Jarlaxle and saw the drow nearly choking in an effort not to laugh, although the assassin got the bad feeling that he was as much the cause of Jarlaxle's mirth as Nyx. Entreri swallowed his second sigh of the morning and climbed on behind the monk. When he grasped her waist, he felt her tense, but she said nothing.

"Shall we, Tai?" Jarlaxle said in a commendably level voice, and once the drow and the priest had climbed upon their horse, the group headed out of town.

Although Jarlaxle and Tai kept up a lively conversation, Nyx was quiet during the ride, leaving Entreri to his thoughts, which inevitably turned to the previous night's events. Another damn drow. The sky seemed to be raining drow! The sky had been raining drow for over a decade now. First Drizzt, then Drizzt's relatives, then Jarlaxle, then a whole city of the evil freaks, then Bregan D'aerthe on the surface, then Drizzt again, then just Jarlaxle, and now—now this freak Mordecai! Could Entreri never, ever escape these evil little elves?

He wished he'd never seen a drow—any drow! He cursed himself for ever finding them fascinating, for ever wanting to be around them, for ever allowing himself to get so obsessed with Drizzt. He cursed himself ten times over, called himself a fool, and told himself he deserved his horrid fate.

"I hate drow," he moaned, not realizing he had spoken aloud until Nyx glanced over her shoulder with a bewildered look.

"You do?" she asked, obviously confused by his sudden outburst.

"It's a long story, but yes. I hate all drow . . . except Jarlaxle."

"Does your out-of-the-blue comment mean you think drow are after the _Kagaor ki Tamal_?"

_An out!_ Entreri thought. "It's possible."

Jarlaxle's sensitive hearing had allowed him to hear his name be spoken. "Are you talking about me?" he asked, smiling.

"Yes," Nyx said with a smirk. "Entreri here was just telling me how he hates drow."

Entreri glared at the back of Nyx's head, but Jarlaxle simply laughed. Just to knock the elf off balance, Entreri turned to the mercenary and smiled as close to nicely as he could manage and not break his face. "But not you, Jarlaxle. I am quite terribly fond of you."

Jarlaxle looked like he might fall off his horse, and Entreri snickered. Tai and Nyx had broken into laughter. The mercenary recovered and smiled. The assassin could see the mischievous glint in Jarlaxle's eyes again and knew that the elf was entertaining thoughts of matchmaking. "Don't make me hurt you," Entreri said to him for the second time in as many days.

Jarlaxle feigned an evil cackle, and once again, Entreri found himself subjected to stares that asked him whether he and his drow friend were mad.

The group reached the wizard's tower a few minutes later to find the old man awaiting them outside. They dismounted and approached him.

"Well met, Dorn the Wise," Nyx said, bowing. "These are the companions I spoke of." She gestured toward the group.

The old man, whose face was nearly lost in a long, scraggly beard, simply pushed back the sleeves of his crimson robe and frowned at them. "Yes, yes, let's proceed. It's a quarter hour past our appointed time, miss, and I don't have all day."

"My apologies," Nyx replied, holding out a bag of coins; Dorn took the payment and headed inside without comment.

The group looked at each other then followed him, horses and all. Once inside, they found a large circle drawn on the foyer floor. Amber dust coated the interior of the circle.

"Step into the circle," the wizard said, his tone impatient.

Nyx and Tai entered the circle without hesitation, and after trading concerned looks, Jarlaxle and Entreri followed with their horses.

"Now be quiet," Dorn commanded and began speaking the arcane words of his spell.

Entreri's stomach protested as the room around him began to shift, his vision blurring as though he were spinning around in circles. He closed his eyes, but only momentarily, for it made the dizziness worse. Beside him, his horse whinnied and tried to pull away, but Entreri held on to the reins tightly. For a moment he couldn't breathe or move, then the spinning of his vision reversed in a green smear. Suddenly, with a faint popping sensation, the assassin found himself and his companions standing in a field. His breakfast asked rather rudely to be released from his stomach, but he held back the urge. He'd never been fond of wizards' doors, nor had he particularly enjoyed "normal" teleportation. But this version of teleportation had proven to be his least favorite.

"See!" Tai piped up. "Much better than horseback riding, and much quicker, too!"

The assassin wanted to choke him, but any quick movements seemed out of the question for the moment.

Nyx pointed to a stand of trees on their left. "The village is just beyond those trees. We're close enough to simply walk from here."

Within a few minutes, the companions had arrived at the gates of Olostin's Hold. Nyx joked with the guards—apparently acquaintances of hers—for a few moments, winning them entrance into the village. The rustic village didn't make much of an impression upon Entreri: although a wooden sidewalk ran in front of the stores on both sides of the street, the main thoroughfare was merely a hard-packed dirt road. One- and two-story wooden buildings, inconspicuous in design, filled the area, except for the end of the street, which sported an open-air market. Nyx headed straight for the nearest tavern, the Flaming Flagon, and strode in without even waiting for Entreri and Jarlaxle to secure their horses.

"Patient one, isn't she?" Entreri quipped.

"As patient as you," Jarlaxle replied.

Tai laughed. "Yes, I do see a few similarities between you and Nyx, Master Entreri."

Jarlaxle started chuckling, and Entreri shot him a withering glance. The assassin turned back to Tai. "Entreri."

The priest blinked, obviously confused. "Your pardon?"

"Just call me 'Entreri.' We're past the stage of formalities." The assassin swept past the stunned but smiling priest and wondered why Tai was so happy about what he'd said. Was it something specific to the culture of Tai's nation—whichever nation that was? Or maybe something specific, even, to Tai's town or village? Entreri glanced over his shoulder before he stepped into the tavern and found a grinning drow at his side. He looked away before any exasperation could seep onto his face. What was Jarlaxle so amused about? The assassin pushed through the doors, thinking as he entered that the drow was the only person he knew that referred to him by his personal name—a recent development that had occurred without Entreri's consent. Strangely, though, it didn't bother him.

Upon entering the dimly lit tavern, Entreri made an automatic visual sweep of the room: a dozen small round tables, a long bar, two dusty windows, two exits (front door and unseen back door), six customers including Nyx, and one grim barkeep. Entreri locked gazes with the barkeep—a short, squinty-eyed fellow—and instantly summed him up as a thug. They stared at each other hard for a moment, each recognizing the other's criminal streak, then Entreri turned away with a smirk, smelling the man's inferiority as a fighter without even having to measure his stride.

Nyx had seated herself with a cloaked figure at a corner table, so Entreri led the group in her direction. Given the lack of patrons—and therefore noise—Entreri could easily hear Nyx's gasped "What?"

The assassin stopped at the monk's shoulder and looked between her and the other figure, who he now saw was a woman. "Is there a problem?"

Even in the dim light, Entreri could see Nyx had grown pale; her brown eyes were wide with shock.

"Keep your voice down," the other woman whispered. "I don't trust Hartshorn," she titled her head slightly toward the barkeep, "and I don't want him to overhear our discussion."

Tai, Jarlaxle, and Entreri joined the women at the table, and Tai watched Nyx with concern as she clenched her fists upon the tabletop.

"Nyx?" the priest asked softly.

"I just gave her terrible news," the other woman told him, then paused as she looked at Entreri and Jarlaxle. "Excuse me, I should introduce myself." She lowered her hood, revealing her narrow features and bun of brown hair. She was perhaps in her mid-thirties, likely a decade Nyx's senior. "I am called Aedelvana, and to Nyx, I am a friend of a friend."

"Well met, Lady Aedelvana," Jarlaxle said, and the woman looked at him with great suspicion.

"What terrible news?" Tai asked, apparently trying to deflect the usual It's-A-Drow reaction.

Aedelvana focused on Tai, who she seemed to recognize. "Evendur the White as been murdered."

Tai sat back, looking surprised.

"Was that not the wizard who teleported you and Nyx?" Entreri asked the priest.

Tai nodded. "Yes . . . he was a very kind man." He grasped one of Nyx's hands and squeezed it. "And he was a friend of Nyx's."

"And of mine," Aedelvana said. "I've both cast divination spells and asked around, and the fruits of my effort are that I have an idea of who is responsible." She glanced at Jarlaxle, narrowing her eyes. "Evendur was attacked by a small party of drow, a powerful wizard or cleric among them. Rumors hold that these drow have taken up residence in Evendur's tower, although no one has been able to confirm the rumor."

Jarlaxle frowned, and Entreri suspected that the mercenary was wondering if there were a connection between Mordecai and the murder.

Entreri suspected correctly. Jarlaxle held Aedelvana's troubled gaze as he thought through the situation. The mercenary, who had spent hundreds of years both spinning his own webs of intrigue and watching matron mothers spin theirs, had long since decided there were no such things as coincidences. Scout parties and raiding parties made regular trips to the surface in the area of the Silver Marches, it was true. Also true was the fact that many drow lived in the High Forest. But too many things were happening at once for Jarlaxle to be comfortable: Kimmuriel had sent a scout party to the surface; the leader of the scout party, Mordecai, had declared his desire to kill Jarlaxle and had attacked Entreri; and simultaneously, someone was plotting to procure a powerful saurian relic. A powerful saurian relic that could help an ambitious drow kill his superiors and place him on the throne of Bregan D'aerthe, perhaps?

Jarlaxle raised a delicate white eyebrow at Aedelvana. "I suppose it's not surprising to hear that drow would invade a wizard's tower and take possession of it. I've heard that several drow inhabit the High Forest."

Tai nodded, glancing at Aedelvana as he spoke. "As have I—and apparently some of them are good. I know little about either drow or their deities, but I hear that some of the drow worship Eilistraee—who I've been told is a good goddess—although others worship some god named Vhaeraun." The cleric shrugged.

"Vhaeraun opposes Lolth and wishes for drow to conquer the surface," Jarlaxle explained briefly. "Perhaps Evendur the White had some knowledge or possessions that interested some of the followers of Vhaeraun, and they decided to take what they wanted by force."

Aedelvana frowned. "I care not who these drow serve or why they killed my friend. I simply wish for Evendur's death to be avenged."

Tai and Nyx both straightened at those words. "That is our holy duty," Nyx said, a spark of anger lighting her eyes.

"We shall see that retribution is served," Tai agreed.

Entreri looked none-too-pleased. "I thought we were going to hunt for some overzealous treasure-seekers."

"It might be that there is a connection between the two events," Jarlaxle said. "We can't afford to overlook the fact that this murder took place within the same general area where we had planned to start our search for the treasure-seekers."

Nyx's brow furrowed.

"Tell me," Jarlaxle continued, looking at Nyx. "From whom did you get the tip that you should begin your search in this particular area of the High Forest—your great uncle or your friend Evendur the White?"

"Evendur . . ." Nyx answered slowly. "Tai and I spoke with him before he teleported us south, and he confirmed my great uncle's fears about the artifact. He also said that the most likely ruins that the treasure-seekers would search would be directly east from here . . ."

Jarlaxle nodded. "Was Evendur the White widely known to have a great knowledge of both this area and of arcane relics?"

Nyx nodded, and she seemed almost dazed.

Jarlaxle spread his hands. "A possible link. I say we use a little stealth this evening and pay a visit to your friend's tower."

Entreri's scowl had multiplied ten-fold, but when Nyx and Tai agreed to Jarlaxle's plan, the assassin did also. Outwardly, Jarlaxle smiled to show he was pleased with their consent, but inwardly, Jarlaxle's mood matched Entreri's. If Mordecai were the one searching for the _Kagaor ki Tamal_, and if he had garnered a significant contingent of supporters, the situation within Bregan D'aerthe might have grown serious enough to warrant Jarlaxle's return to Menzoberranzan. Perhaps, in fact, it was a sign that he'd stayed away for too long already.

Jarlaxle kept the frown from his face, but the possibility of returning home did not please him. He . . . enjoyed being on the surface. Not to mention that he had not finished his self-appointed task of helping Entreri to find himself. Truly, the elf had the knowledge to do so, and yet he hadn't progressed as far as he'd hoped. He'd tried many subtle methods, and was even now considering less subtle methods, but he hadn't found a good opening—and he had told himself he wouldn't leave Entreri's side until he'd accomplished his goal.

But what choice did he have? To stay or to leave both presented problems: staying might very well mean the permanent loss of his self-built empire, and leaving would be to abandon both the freedom of the surface and a . . . friend.

Jarlaxle shrugged off his irritation and began weaving plots and strategies for their upcoming task . . . and for the possibility they'd be facing Mordecai this night. However, it ultimately was of no matter. The clever male had survived in the matriarchal hell of Menzoberranzan on account of his ability to defeat any challenge set before him. He would handle this problem just as he'd handled hundreds of difficulties before it.


	4. Chapter 4

"_. . . there will be time to wonder . . ." _

**Chapter Four**

Mordecai dismissed the underling who bowed before him and then turned back to the stacks of tomes, scrolls, and spell books which covered the desk. When Mordecai had first entered the old wizard's study, he'd been overwhelmed by the endless stacks of musty books and papers strewn about the desk, bookcases, and floor. The scent of dust and dry-rotting leather alone had been enough to give the drow a headache, but Mordecai's patience had been rewarded. The tomes and scrolls had provided the drow with an excess of information about a great many things—including ancient saurian artifacts and the _Kagaor ki Tamal_. This wealth of knowledge—and the wizard's personal collection of magical items—had made the taking of the tower worthwhile. Mordecai smiled. He now had an idea of exactly where to look for the relic and even had a drawing of the relic to guide him in his quest. The drow was pleased.

But more pleasing still was the report he'd just received. It seemed that two of the people his plan required him to assassinate were unknowingly coming straight to him. Mordecai pondered the turn of events with a smile: on their way were Jarlaxle himself and the wretched human assassin—plus two other meaningless humans who the spy said were a monk and a cleric.

Mordecai left the books to stare out the window, an act that was quickly becoming a favorite pastime of his. For miles the drow could see the swaying green tops of trees, and far in the distance, he could see the grey tip of a mountain peak. Mordecai let the sight of all that was rightfully his comfort him. The drow had been angered and humiliated by his failed attempt to kill the assassin and by Jarlaxle's discovery of him, but he now reminded himself that it hardly mattered whether the mercenary leader knew he was coming for them or not. Jarlaxle would not send for help; he would handle the situation himself—and therefore he would die. "Even the great and powerful Jarlaxle," Mordecai said to himself with a touch of sarcasm, "as talented and dangerous as he is, cannot know the many secrets and surprises I hold."

A bump against the drow's leg alerted him to the presence of his latest acquisition. Mordecai smiled and reached down, picking up the white beast which rubbed itself against his leg. The human had called the animal a cat, but regardless of the creature's name, the drow found it fascinating. He stroked the cat's soft fur, feeling through the animal's back the odd vibration it produced every time he held it. Truly, the cat enthralled him, for not only was it graceful and beautiful, it had proven to be a ruthless, efficient hunter and killer. The drow smiled, imaging himself to be much like the cat. Yes, killing Jarlaxle, Entreri, and their new companions would not be difficult, especially since Mordecai had handpicked his scout team to include only those who supported him. Oh, the mercenary leader and his pet assassin made for an intimidating team, it was true, but Mordecai wasn't worried. No, this would be fun. Where to even begin?

Mordecai considered the question as he scratched under the cat's chin. Jarlaxle was confident in his power, even cocky. Mordecai would steal that from him.

Entreri, though. Mordecai searched his memory. The drow had been among those who'd been brought to Calimport for Jarlaxle's surface venture, so while he'd not paid the human any attention personally, he'd still picked up information by listening to others snicker. Pride! Yes, that was it. The human was desperately prideful. And . . . and there was something about a drow soldier who had teased the man and as a result had nearly ended up dead. "So," Mordecai murmured to himself. "The human is bothered by sexual advances from males."

Mordecai shuddered. The thought of toying with a male did not appeal to him in the slightest, and the thought of toying with any human—even a female one—disgusted him. But if he could bring himself to do it, he could attack on two fronts—the sexual assault itself, and a large helping of humiliation to go along with it.

The drow grinned wickedly. Pain and humiliation. He could do it. And he could even bring himself to enjoy it, too.

* * *

Entreri endured with a scowl the hour's ride south to Evendur's tower, his foul mood rendering him impervious to the sights and smells around him. The sun set with a fanfare over the Silver Marches: brassy reds and oranges crowned the treetops, while softer yellows and even greens stretched overhead to blend their voices into the remainder of the blue. A crisp breeze graced the spring air as the sun's warmth faded, and in the forest on either side of the dirt road, crickets chirped in a chorus. Sweet scents from blooming flowers filled the air with a thick aroma. However, Entreri found it all only a step shy of irritating. 

Riding beside Entreri—thankfully on her own horse this time—was Nyx, who seemed to the assassin to share his sour mood. Given the intensity of the monk's glower, Entreri entertained little doubt that the murder of Evender the White would be avenged.

Behind them rode Jarlaxle and Tai, both of whom were unusually quiet. Tai had relented and rented a horse, making the trip easier on everyone, but although Jarlaxle had teased the priest about it for a few minutes as they left the village, he had fallen silent shortly thereafter.

The hour's worth of silence left Entreri alone with his thoughts. During the first 40 years of his life, this wouldn't have been a problem, except for a short interval after the assassin had left Menzoberranzan. The past ten months, however, had produced a great deal of inner turmoil and conflicting thoughts, most of which Entreri had settled before he'd killed Socor. Or so he'd thought.

But it wasn't true. Questions were still seeping through the cracks of his emotional armor to attack him. Entreri had heard people joke that those facing midlife often fell into states of reflection, upheaval, or even panic, but he'd never imagined that he would suffer from such confusion. Still, the trip he was currently making–one predominately meant to avenge a man's death—was a perfect example of what bothered him. Did he really want to spend the rest of his life doing things like this? Why was he even bothering being a part of such a task? Entreri found himself seriously questioning who he was becoming.

What, exactly, was he turning into? Not a hero, of that much he was sure. But in admitting months earlier that he'd allowed his past to control him, he'd been forced to question two of his greatest and oldest beliefs: one, his survival was dependent upon his exclusive focus on himself and his needs; and two, the only people worth their lives were those who could save themselves. But if he could truly bring himself to live without those beliefs, what would it mean about the person he would be? Who would this man become? A man with friends or without? A man with compassion or not? The implications were endless. Could this man even go so far as to have both friends and a family? The mere idea seemed laughable, but if the Entreri of a year earlier could have spoken to the Entreri of today, he would have laughed to think he'd reached such a point. And the Entreri who had pulled Jarlaxle from the crystal tower would have been an object of scorn to the Entreri of several years ago, who was a man confused and wandering across Faerun. And the man of several years ago, who had been so lost, would have seemed alien indeed to the man who had traveled all the way up the Sword Coast and into Icewind Dale to capture Regis Rumblebelly and return him to Pasha Pook.

No, the Artemis Entreri of today could not discount any possibility whatsoever.

But the greatest question was much simpler than that, although Entreri was loath to admit it to himself. The real question was whether he really wanted to be at peace, or whether his anger and bitterness were too comfortable, familiar, and easy for him to let go of.

The thought shocked Entreri, and so when Nyx finally spoke, he turned away from it with no small relief.

"We're almost there," the monk said, and Entreri could hear the undercurrent of anger in her voice.

The assassin looked at Nyx, studying her profile. He could see that her jaw was clenched, causing a tendon to slightly protrude on her neck, and her frown was furious, giving her a vicious look. However, her pert nose and fine features somewhat counteracted the effect; in fact, the pert nose especially made its mark, lending her a vaguely girlish appearance. "We should dismount and leave our horses at a safe distance," he replied at last. "We are, after all, interested in stealth here."

The monk nodded once, then her frown deepened. "I . . . can't believe Evendur's been killed."

Entreri's initial impulse was to turn away. What did he care if the woman were upset or not? Yet he found himself watching her and just listening.

"I had just reestablished my friendship with him—you see, my family and I moved away from Olostin's Hold when I was ten," she continued, "and I've only in the past year begun to reacquaint myself with everyone. But . . . Evendur had always been a close family friend . . . he'd doted on me when I was a child." Nyx clenched her jaw so tightly Entreri wondered that he could not hear her teeth grinding. "And it angers me to think that such a kind old man would be brutally murdered."

For a moment, the image of Pasha Basadoni flashed through Entreri's mind—the man's sad expression as he lay helpless and sick in his bed and his look of surprise as Entreri killed him. The assassin glanced away, faintly stung by the memory. "At least you will have your vengeance," he found himself saying.

In the moment of utter silence that followed, Entreri glanced back at Nyx and found her gazing at him with faint astonishment. "Yes," she said finally. "I will have that much, although I fear it will be an empty victory."

Entreri frowned at her, working through her words. "The murderer's death will not give you back your friend," he guessed.

Nyx nodded, but she looked perplexed, as though he had somehow shocked or confused her with his words.

"For some the vengeance would be enough," Entreri continued.

"A thousand acts of violence would not ease the grief of such a loss," Nyx replied.

Entreri tilted his head to the side, looking at her out of the corner of his vision. "What does?"

Nyx bit her lip for a moment, seeming deep in thought. "Time itself, for some, but also . . . hope in tomorrow." She paused. "Humanity's greatest gift is its faith in the future—even when that faith is sometimes misplaced. The death of hope and the numbness of apathy are the worst enemies of any person, for there is no healing, no growth, no . . . life without faith and investment in the future." She glanced at him. "And faith in a god, too."

Her words reminded Entreri of Tai's similar speeches, and the assassin found that despite his most cynical impulses, he could not disagree about faith in the future. In his darkest moment, he had given up on his life, and it had been a foolish impulse. Jarlaxle had forced him to live when he'd ordered Kimmuriel to empower Entreri with psionics in his last strike against Drizzt, but Entreri now knew he was stronger and wiser for it. Never again would he allow himself such hopelessness . . . such cowardice.

"We're as close as we should get," Jarlaxle called from behind them.

"He's right," Nyx said, and the group stopped and dismounted, leading their horses off the road and into a clearing before securing the reins to some trees.

"Remember," Jarlaxle said, "this is reconnaissance only." He locked gazes with Nyx. "Although Aedelvana may be correct—we may be dealing with drow—we need first to verify her information. Also, we need to learn how many we'll be facing and what defenses they've established around the tower. Once we've garnered that knowledge, we can plan our attack."

Nyx nodded, although she didn't look happy about it.

Jarlaxle looked between his three associates. "Let's approach in two teams. Artemis, if you will accompany Nyx; Tai, if you'll accompany me." The elf focused his gaze upon Entreri. "You, above all other humans, understand the level of stealth needed should we be dealing with drow." Jarlaxle then addressed Tai and Nyx. "Stealth is of paramount importance here. However, if by some means we are discovered—and the tower's occupants are in fact drow—we will have quite a fight on our hands. Be prepared."

Nyx nodded, looking grim indeed, and headed off. Entreri scowled at Jarlaxle for a moment, knowing that they both were thinking of Mordecai's attack the night before. Jarlaxle minutely shook his head, and Entreri understood that he was indicating no real benefit would come from their mentioning the attack given that they hadn't verified Aedelvana's information. The assassin faintly nodded in acknowledgement. Entreri then turned to follow Nyx, but Tai caught his sleeve. The assassin stopped and raised an eyebrow at the boy.

"Please don't allow her to get carried away," Tai whispered, his concern shining in his eyes. "I've never seen her so upset or angry."

Entreri's sigh was unconscious, but his tone ominous. "Trust me. I'll not let her rush in."

Tai's mouth curved into a half-smile. "Thank you." The priest patted the arm he'd grasped. "Take care of yourself, too, while you're at it." The sentiment seemed genuine; no sarcasm colored the boy's tone.

"You shouldn't ever concern yourself with that," Entreri replied wryly.

Tai released his arm and left with Jarlaxle, who was once again—damn him!—smiling. Entreri could not figure out what was so amusing.

Nyx and Entreri slipped into the dense, verdant foliage and approached the tower from the west. When they reached the tree line, the assassin got his first good glimpse of the structure, which was made of slate-grey granite. Narrow windows graced the tower in random places, and four sharp spires jutted up from the structure's top like a thorny crown. Since the sunset had nearly bled from the sky, only a faint crimson tint outlined the spires.

"Not an inviting home," Entreri quipped.

Nyx glared at the man. "Evendur dueled and killed the criminal who occupied the tower before him; I assure you that Evendur would not have constructed such an abode for himself."

The assassin nodded and took stock of the grounds. A twenty-foot grassy clearing surrounded the tower, and Entreri frowned at the lack of places to conceal oneself once beyond the safety of the trees. Still, the first stage of their plan was merely observation, so that was of no concern just yet. The assassin and monk each climbed a tree, blending themselves into the leaves, and began their surveillance.

* * *

Meanwhile, Jarlaxle and Tai slipped around to the tower's east side, concealing themselves behind the trees. Tai looked down and focused upon the symbol of Hoar which was stitched into his cloak, using the emblem—a gloved hand holding a coin depicting a two-faced head—as a point of concentration so he could enter into communion with his god. He brought two fingers up perpendicular to his lips and whispered a prayer of protection and divine favor for himself and his allies and of disfavor for his unknown enemies. Looking back up, the priest saw Jarlaxle gazing at the tower with a calculating expression. 

"Surely we must get closer," Tai whispered, "or we shall learn very little."

Jarlaxle smiled. "You mean I must get closer. You hide here and follow our plan."

Before Tai could respond, the drow melted into the growing shadows, shocking Tai with his ability to blend into the darkness. "How did he do that?" Tai mumbled to himself. "Especially with that hat!"

Several minutes passed, and Tai surveyed the area intently, determined not to miss any signs of the usurper—or usurpers. Briefly, he wondered how effective he could be at such a task considering he hadn't been able to track Jarlaxle. Still, he trained all his senses upon surveillance until he became hypersensitive: the scent of the mint growing nearby burnt his nose, and the chirping of crickets—the only sound in the cool spring night—seemed a deafening racket.

Countless minutes seemed to pass, but then a prickling sensation raced up Tai's neck like a scurrying spider. The priest whirled around, and upon seeing a sword blade flash toward his throat, jumped backward, instinctively calling out the first prayer that entered his mind. Tai felt Hoar's divine power flow through him even as he stumbled and fell on the roots of the tree he'd been hiding behind. The sword blade buried itself into the tree, and the wielder exclaimed in shock. When Tai's mind caught up to what was happening, he realized his attacker was a drow male . . . and that he'd struck the drow blind.

Tai climbed to his feet even as the growling drow pulled his blade from the tree and advanced upon the boy. _That's either courage or stupidity,_ Tai thought, but he didn't dare underestimate his opponent, even if he were blinded. Tai drew the only weapons he carried, matching stiletto daggers, and blocked the drow's next (uncannily accurate) strike. As silently as he could, the priest circled his opponent, but the drow heard him and twirled about, slashing at Tai's chest. However, Tai defeated the attack by jumping backwards once more, and before the drow could advance again, Tai tossed both of his daggers at him—one aimed at his chest and the other at his gut.

To his credit, the drow deflected one of the daggers with his blade, but the other sank into his chest. When the drow clutched at the dagger and lowered his blade, Tai pressed his advantage and rushed forward, knocking the sword from the drow's hand. The elf lashed out at him, but Tai ducked the blow, then reached out to touch his attacker's chest. With a simple prayer, Tai invoked Hoar's divine power again; from the point of contact, gashes sprang forth upon the drow's chest, the wounds seeming to race away like claw marks from Tai's fingertips. The drow collapsed, gasping helplessly for breath. With a cringe, Tai knelt by the elf and withdrew his dagger. He told himself that the drow was evil and deserved to die—and the spirit of Hoar that resided within him agreed—but Tai still grimaced as he raised his dagger and plunged it into the dying drow's heart.

"How is it that I can kill orcs so easily and not drow?" he mumbled to himself, withdrawing his dagger once more and retrieving his second one from the ground. Perhaps it had something to do with having befriended Jarlaxle or having heard of good drow who worshipped Eilistraee.

The question was not one he could take time to ponder just now; obviously, the usurpers were drow and were aware of his group's presence. Tai bit his lip, unsure how to proceed. Perhaps it was best to make his way toward Entreri and Nyx. The priest glanced around, trying to search the shadows for further enemies, and concluded he was in severe danger and should join his friends as quickly as possible.

* * *

From across the clearing, Entreri and Nyx heard Tai's shout, even though they could not make out the words of the prayer. "Tai!" Nyx gasped and vaulted from the tree. 

"Wait!" Entreri hissed, jumping from his limb to land beside her. "We must—"

The assassin never completed his sentence. Three drow soldiers sprang from their hiding places among the trees, descending with blades drawn upon the humans. Entreri unsheathed his jeweled dagger and Charon's Claw, parrying the strikes from the first two drow, even as Nyx pulled shuriken from her belt pouch and rained them on the third drow, who desperately tried to deflect them with his swords.

Entreri had no time to concern himself with the monk, though, since a globe of darkness fell upon him. Giving himself over to his other senses and instincts, the assassin concentrated on hearing and feeling his opponents' attacks and on predicting their moves. They were approaching him from either side, he could sense it. Entreri whirled in an expanding circle, turning his blades in a corkscrew pattern, which defeated three of the four blades aimed at him. The fourth blade opened a minor gash on his thigh. Once he'd completed the circle, Entreri dived into a roll, tucking his body tightly, and he could hear the blades _whoosh_ over him moments later. With a second powerful vault, he hurled himself into another roll, trying to work his way to the edge of the magical darkness. He could feel a tear in his cloak as one of his pursuers nearly caught up with him, so he came up slashing. Since he hadn't cleared the globe, he allowed his attackers to push him into a retreat, and within a few feet, he stepped into the relative brightness of the natural night.

Nyx, it seemed, had experienced little trouble with her drow. She had relieved him of one sword, and even as Entreri glanced her way, she blocked the drow's second blade and then punched him in the heart. A flash of green energy pulsed from her fist when it connected with his chest, and the drow squeaked in pain as he was thrown backward ten feet to crash into a tree.

The two drow attacking Entreri emerged from the globe of darkness, then, one aiming his blades high and the other low. However, the first drow suddenly found a shuriken buried in his neck; moments later, the second one lost both his right hand and his sword to a vicious swipe from Charon's Claw before having the jeweled dagger plunge into his chest. The assassin jerked the dagger free of the corpse, letting it tumble to the ground, and turned toward the monk, who grinned wickedly.

"Are two drow a bit much for you, perhaps?" she taunted.

"Truly, _Holy_ Jassan," he replied, mixing her divine title and her name in an attempt to annoy her, "you do not know of what you speak. I dare say you would be long dead had you fought as many drow as I. Besides, we would not have been so easily attacked if you had not revealed our positions."

Nyx's eyes narrowed at the assassin's sarcastic use of her title, but then she again grinned wickedly. "Is that so? Are you sure you're not creating an excuse instead of admitting the drow are superior warriors to you?"

Entreri started to speak, to counter her accusation with a barbed comment, but the anger suddenly left him. He shrugged. "Whether any given drow is better than I am is of no matter. I am still alive, and that is all that concerns me."

A shout snapped the pair out of their exchange. "It's Tai again!" Nyx exclaimed, running in the direction of the noise. She was headed, in fact, directly toward the tower.

Entreri cursed and ran after her. She was just like Drizzt, rushing to her friend's aid without a thought, sending herself straight into danger and nullifying what little stealth they could have salvaged. The idiot would get herself killed, and probably without even saving her precious friend! The assassin growled in frustration, but he then realized he had followed her—also without thinking.

* * *

Jarlaxle stood in the black marble foyer of the wizard's tower and gazed coolly at the slender drow he was not surprised to see. The mercenary leader had tipped his great, floppy hat slightly backwards on his head and now stared down his nose at the grinning Mordecai. Two soldiers stood on either side of Jarlaxle, no doubt assuming that they had him successfully trapped. 

For several minutes, silence reigned as Jarlaxle and Mordecai locked gazes. The flickering of torchlight left most of Mordecai's face in shadow, and since the drow was dressed in solid black, the only features which stood out on him were his red eyes and stock of white hair. Jarlaxle switched to darkvision so he could inventory all of Mordecai's weapons and potential magical items: two falchions hung on the drow's hips, two daggers were strapped to his thighs, two rings graced each hand, a single amulet hung about his neck, and three golden hoop earrings decorated each ear. A modest display, visually, although Jarlaxle suspected the items represented merely a fraction of what the cunning drow possessed.

"I'm forced to conclude you're either growing senile or sloppy in your old age, Jarlaxle," Mordecai said at last, "to have brought yourself so conveniently to my doorstep."

_You assume much about my plans and intentions,_ Jarlaxle thought. "So you think to kill me here and now?"

Mordecai's grin grew wickeder. "Perhaps. Or perhaps I shall toy with you first, my dear former leader."

Jarlaxle did not react to this proclamation except to allow a vaguely bored expression to grace his features. Before Mordecai could continue, two further drow entered, dragging a dazed-looking Tai between them. Jarlaxle pretended to neither notice nor care as they hauled the boy up the marble staircase.

"I'm disappointed in you, Oh Great and Powerful Jarlaxle," Mordecai said with a smirk. "Tell me, what disease have you contracted to cause you to associate with humans so?"

"You assume I do not use them merely for my own profit or amusement, Oh Greatly Foolish Mordecai," Jarlaxle replied.

"One does not typically go to such great lengths to protect a pet as you have gone to protect Entreri," Mordecai countered. "And no matter how graceful, impressive, or entertaining a pet is, it is still simply an animal and not worth any special effort."

Jarlaxle had to wonder whether they were still speaking figuratively of humans or not. No matter; it was time to rid himself of this overconfident pest, though Jarlaxle suspected Mordecai would never understand the extent to which he was overmatched and out-strategized.

One of the massive wooden doors burst into splinters, then, as an angry Nyx used a surge of her _ki_ to force her way into the foyer. Jarlaxle used the distraction to send ten daggers at Mordecai and bury five daggers each in the two soldiers at his sides—all in the amount of time it took Nyx and Entreri to cross the threshold. The two soldiers fell dead, but Mordecai seemed to shimmer. The daggers aimed at him hit the wall even though he hadn't dodged them. Mordecai laughed and sprinted from the room, blatantly inviting a chase, and Jarlaxle bodily blocked Nyx as she tried to follow him.

"They took Tai upstairs," the elf told her. "Please, allow Entreri and me to deal with Mordecai; you rescue your friend."

Nyx glared at Jarlaxle. "You _know_ this drow?"

"Unfortunately," the mercenary replied lightly. "Now hurry—Tai is in grave danger."

Nyx narrowed her eyes at the elf, but without further comment, she headed for the stairs. Jarlaxle turned toward Entreri, then, only to find the assassin already running through the archway after Mordecai.

"But of course he would do that," Jarlaxle muttered, following the revenge-bent human.

* * *

Tai could hear the door burst in, could both see and feel his heels hitting last stair as he was dragged into a hallway, but he felt so groggy he could barely move. For several minutes he had been fighting to stay awake, and as he continued to struggle against the drowsiness, he could feel the sting in his leg where two small darts had hit him. _Were the darts tipped with some kind of sleeping potion?_ he wondered. 

The thought was barely completed before Jarlaxle's words, which Tai had heard through his daze, seemed to echo in his mind: "You assume I do not use them merely for my own profit or amusement." Was it true? Was the drow Tai had laughed with so many times really no better than the one he'd killed?

No, Tai could not afford to doubt his friends now. Besides, that other drow, who was apparently named Mordecai, had said something about Jarlaxle's treatment of Entreri . . . something that boded well, if Tai could just recall it now . . .

_What am I doing?_ Tai thought, his mind snapping into clarity as his situation became painfully clear. _I'm in trouble here! Act now, think later!_

Tai traced a divine symbol into the air with one hand and whispered a prayer, which caught the attention of the soldiers. Before they could react, however, Tai began singing, magically enthralling them. Keeping his concentration on the song, Tai carefully extracted himself from their grip and began easing away, but he could see the drow straining against the enchantment. With a shake of their heads, the soldiers threw off the spell, and Tai raced down the hallway, trying desperately to formulate a plan.

* * *

Entreri rounded the last corner in what seemed like a circular maze of hallways only to find himself in a dead end room—a library, by the looks of it, and probably merely one of many such rooms in the tower. Overburdened shelves lined the walls, and an oil lamp burned on a scroll-laden desk. The musty scent of old paper and dust filled the air, and a moth beat its wings against the lamp's glass, trying hard to murder itself in the protected flame. 

The assassin frowned at the otherwise empty room. Damn Mordecai, where had he gone? Knowing there had to be either a trick or a trap, Entreri drew his weapons and slipped into the room's shadows, keeping his back to the wall.

"You do realize, don't you, that Jarlaxle calls everyone 'friend.' That you are not anything special."

Entreri turned toward the voice in time to see Mordecai step out from a hidden door. The slender drow smiled down at the assassin from the vantage point of a mere two inches, but the arrogance glowing in his red eyes was that of a king peering down at a kneeling subject. The assassin narrowed his eyes at the drow. "Is that so?"

Mordecai ran slender fingers through his spiky white hair, then ran his index finger down his cheek and across his jaw. "Foolish human. Do you not realize? _L'alurl abbil zhah dosstan._"

_The best trusted friend is yourself,_ Entreri's mind immediately translated.

"Jarlaxle is using you—just as he's used you several times before." Mordecai brushed his black cloak back over one shoulder and smiled at Entreri as though he were a silly child. "Have you not seen all the ways he's manipulated you? Played upon your pride, your confusion, your arrogance, your ambition? He knows your every desire, your every insecurity, and he uses the knowledge to control you, to bend you to his will, to take from you what he wants."

Entreri's face remained as expressionless as ever, but there was a sting of truth in some of those words, he knew. "Even if you were correct, what would you care?"

"I do not." Mordecai shrugged gracefully. "But I wonder why you give your allegiance to someone who has so blatantly used you as a puppet and a tool. Especially since he will bore of you. Tell me that you at least realize that! He will discard you, perhaps even kill you in the process." The drow snickered. "But I wonder which will be worse for you—if he kills you when he betrays you, or if he leaves you to live with the betrayal."

Entreri's grip tightened brutally around his weapon hilts. _It's a game,_ he told himself. _Mordecai is the one trying to manipulate you._ "I am not fooled by your words," he said.

"On the contrary," the drow said, taking a step forward, "you know that every word I speak is the truth."

Entreri raised his weapons, but Mordecai whispered a spell while simultaneously tracing a circle in the air. The assassin halted in place, caught in the grip of the most powerful holding spell he had ever encountered. Immediately, Entreri asserted every ounce of his willpower against it, but he could not seem to break it. Mordecai sauntered up to him, swaying his hips wantonly, and the assassin's breath froze in his chest. The drow licked his lips as he neared, and Entreri could not miss the sexual implication. Mordecai put one hand on the wall to each side of Entreri's head and leaned into his face, carefully avoiding the raised weapons.

"My sources tell me that you are roughly forty years old, human," Mordecai said, his lips only inches from Entreri's, "and yet you do not look a day past thirty. I hear Calishites often don't show their age as quickly as other human races, but I must wonder if the essence of the shade you have absorbed plays a role in this." The drow grinned at this display of personal knowledge about Entreri. "The Shade are, after all, long-lived and capable of self-regeneration."

Entreri really didn't care what Mordecai knew about him; more disturbing was this leer he had seen before many times. He knew what Mordecai had planned for him, but he fought off the spike of fear that struck his stomach like lightning. Anger took its place.

"But your unusual appearance of youth is not the only thing appealing about you," Mordecai continued, running his fingertips down Entreri's cheek. "I find your slender, muscular build most attractive. Your angular features are nicely aristocratic, and your fine grey eyes burn with anger so beautifully." The fingertips had continued lower, dipping inside Entreri's low-buttoned shirt and brushing against his bare chest. "To be frank," the drow continued, "I have always desired only females, but your effortless grace and your dominating spirit—just waiting to be broken—are far too intoxicating for me to bother with such trivial details. Especially when forcing someone to beg me to ride them like an animal is a pleasure that transcends all boundaries."

_This is not going to happen,_ was Entreri's only thought. _I'll kill him first. _

This is not going to happen.

* * *

_A/N: "L'alurl abbil zhah dosstan"—the best trusted friend is yourself—is a translation I got from charlemagne-monet. Thank you, CM!_


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: WARNING: implied rape. This story is rated M for a reason; I strongly urge you to reconsider your decision to read this if you are sensitive to the topic of sexual violence—especially if you are under the age of 17._

* * *

"_There will be time to murder and create"_

**Chapter Five**

Entreri understood with painful clarity what Mordecai had planned for him.

The horror or rage anyone would feel when facing rape would be great; to a man who had been repeatedly raped as a child, the anger provoked exceeded anything the rational mind could comprehend. The assassin's entire soul screamed in blind fury and revulsion. The holding spell shattered instantly under the surge of Entreri's rage, and before Mordecai could even blink, Entreri had kneed him in the groin, slashed him with both blades, and then kicked him square in the stomach. The drow landed several feet away with a howl of wrath, but unfortunately he seemed unhurt. Apparently, Mordecai had a protective enchantment about him.

Entreri was undeterred. He stalked toward Mordecai, both fists clenched on the hilts of his weapons, and the depth of his rage caused him to nearly tremble. He was going to kill the drow. He was going to slowly, carefully disembowel him, decapitate him, and cut him into miniscule pieces. This bastard had picked the wrong person to threaten with such violence.

A bolt of lightening hit Mordecai square in the shoulder, and the drow jumped to his feet in alarm. Again, Mordecai seemed virtually unharmed, but he stepped backwards at the sight of Jarlaxle pointing a wand at him from the doorway.

Entreri glared at the mercenary leader. "He's mine."

"Would it be such a crime to share?" Jarlaxle asked in an eerily calm tone that conveyed a threat a hundred fold more sinister than a shout ever could.

Entreri's grin was perhaps the evilest of his life. "Well . . . perhaps not."

In the following five seconds, Mordecai had to dodge a double strike from Entreri, a dozen daggers, and a second bolt of lightening. After evading the lightening, Mordecai traced a symbol into the air and spoke the words of a spell; simultaneously, he drew one of his falchions with the other hand. Within moments, a vaporous mist billowed out from the drow, obscuring both Entreri's and Jarlaxle's sight, and for the assassin, the mist proved an uncomfortable reminder of his fight with Mordecai in the bathhouse.

"Did you not know he's a magic-user?" Entreri yelled at Jarlaxle, even as he struck at Mordecai's most likely position.

Jarlaxle's only reply was to drop the room into a deep magical silence, effectively stealing two of Entreri's senses. The assassin wasn't sure whether Mordecai would try to escape in the concealing mist or would stay and attempt killing them. Betting that the drow would prefer killing them, Entreri turned right, taking the fifty-fifty chance that Mordecai would move away from the hidden door he'd emerged from. Holding his blades in a defensive stance, Entreri eased forward, concentrating on his other senses and instincts just as he had in the globe of darkness. Sure enough, moments later Mordecai apparently thrust forward, for two blades connected with Entreri's, and the assassin found himself parrying a strike which would have impaled him.

The heat of magical energy passed by Entreri's cheek then, and he saw through the mist a blue glow. An instant later, the assassin felt an impact upon Mordecai through their blades. Jarlaxle had apparently drawn one of his other wands—perhaps the one which shot magical missiles. Encouraged, Entreri pressed an attack, nicking at the figure he knew to be before him. It was possible that a single scratch from Charon's Claw could kill the drow. Mordecai brought up his blades, however, and deflected the strikes.

Entreri then sensed movement to his left. Suspecting that the drow was trying to retreat, he followed. The retreat was only logical, after all—Jarlaxle could drop the room into silence as soon as the current silence ended, and with such a limited capacity to cast spells, Mordecai had no chance of killing them both.

The mist began to clear, and Entreri could make out Mordecai's form heading for the hidden door. The assassin rushed the drow, who sensed him coming and turned, parrying each of Entreri's thrusts as the man descended upon him in a flurry of strikes. With each turn and twist of his blades, Mordecai worked to disarm Entreri, but he succeeded in only relieving each of them of one blade, in Entreri's case, his dagger. However, the magical silence lifted then, and the drow grinned. Whispering a final spell, Mordecai waved his hand across his chest, and Entreri found himself knocked backward by an invisible force. The drow immediately turned and ran through the hidden door, shutting it behind him; Entreri, however, just as quickly retrieved his dagger and approached the door. Jarlaxle stopped and picked up Mordecai's dropped falchion, then joined the assassin. A moment's search enabled Entreri to discover the trick and open the door, and then they entered a dark passageway.

Both the mercenaries ran silently, but their prey, being drow, made no noise either. After a few moments, Entreri realized that for the second time since his assassination of the shade, he was seeing in pitch-blackness—even if it were only a few feet in front of him. The assassin could continue pursuit this way, but since he knew Jarlaxle could see much better, he allowed him to lead. Still, even Jarlaxle stopped after several moments and looked with confusion in all directions.

_He must have slipped through a trapdoor along the way,_ Entreri signed roughly in drow hand code. Jarlaxle gave him an odd look then, and Entreri smiled smugly. _Yes, I can see,_ he signed to the elf.

Jarlaxle raised an eyebrow in surprise and signed his reply. _I'll continue forward. You go back and check for trapdoors._ He pointed to a light which they could just barely see far down the tunnel. _If you find nothing, head toward the light._

Entreri nodded and turned back. Mordecai would not escape him. Even if he didn't catch the drow today, he would never stop his pursuit until Mordecai was dead.

Pride and ambition had often led the assassin to pursue a foe relentlessly, but neither trait informed Entreri's determination this time. The line Mordecai had crossed belonged to a class in itself, and the underlying emotion which motivated the assassin was not one he could have named even if he had acknowledged it.

* * *

Mordecai slipped from a second concealed passageway and inhaled the fresh air in the hallway. His anger and humiliation had doubled now, for he had made a critical error: even after serving under Jarlaxle and engaging the human in battle, he'd still allowed his prejudices to bias him. He had underestimated his enemies. He should have known better than to misjudge Jarlaxle, at least, and he had to wonder if he even had any soldiers left or if Jarlaxle's group had killed them all. Likewise, Mordecai held no doubt that the cunning mercenary had figured out at least part of his objective; Jarlaxle had to know he was after the _Kagaor ki Tamal._

No matter. Mordecai had plans and plots enough to account for every contingency. And in the meantime, he'd send a little message to Entreri . . . Yes, he'd give the assassin something to ponder.

* * *

Tai walked down the corridor silently, although he knew it made little difference. Since he couldn't see in the dark hallway, he'd prayed for an enchantment upon one of his daggers, making it glow and enabling him to search for his allies—but also giving away his location to his enemies. _It doesn't matter,_ he consoled himself. _As drow, they could see me in the dark, anyway._

Although he'd finally killed the two drow who'd been chasing him, the young priest of Hoar felt a growing sense of unease as he searched for either his friends or an exit. He'd exhausted almost all of his spells in the fighting and had none left which could help defend him. Furthermore, he was discomforted by the fact the wizard who'd lived here likely had been very powerful, but the drow had apparently disposed of him easily. Tai found himself praying that his friends were still alive.

Tai sensed rather than heard the movement behind him. He whirled around, hoping to either see an ally or to blind a drow with his light. Neither wish was fulfilled. Mordecai, the drow who Tai had hazily seen Jarlaxle talking to earlier, was leaning against the wall grinning at him. An icy wave crashed through Tai's chest, causing his heart to skip so powerfully that he involuntarily coughed.

"Your friends slipped away from me . . . for now," Mordecai whispered softly. "But dear, sweet child, you shall not."

Suddenly, Tai's senses sharpened, intruding upon his concentration with details: the chill draft brushing his ankles, the bluish-white light of his enchanted dagger, the musty smell of dry-rotting leather, and the distant bang of an unlatched window in the wind. Tai found himself backing away. _Hoar, help me!_

Mordecai pushed off the wall and sauntered toward him with a look of ravenous violence. _No,_ Tai's mind immediately rejected the one possibility that presented itself. _That would never happen to me. Hoar would protect me from such a thing._

"_Sorenseth,_" Mordecai whispered.

Tai's entire body froze in place. _No!_ his mind screamed, but he was paralyzed. It was no mere holding spell, of that Tai was sure; so potent was this spell that the priest could barely breathe. Tai's mind jumbled into incoherency as overwhelming fear for his life swallowed his thoughts; the power of his panic caused his teeth to ache. With all his terror, Tai pushed against the spell, but not a single muscle twitched. His jaw had fallen slightly open before he'd been paralyzed, and now he desperately drew air in through his mouth, fighting a sensation of suffocation.

"Surely you did not think to resist me, human," Mordecai continued, smiling darkly. The drow rushed at him then, slapping the glowing dagger from his hand and grasping him in a chokehold. Tai could feel the pressure against his windpipe, cutting off his air, but couldn't react. The drow dragged him several feet down the hall and released him, forcing his paralyzed body into an awkward bend over a table. Then Mordecai leaned over him and rasped into his ear. "Remember this moment forever, _iblith._"

* * *

Nyx rounded another corner in what felt like a maze. The tower was either very well designed or magically enchanted against intruders because even though it was impossible, she felt like she'd been down the same corridor three times. She was growing not only frustrated, but anxious. She needed to find Tai, quickly! 

When she reached the end of the hallway and turned yet another corner, she got her wish. Tai lay in a crumpled heap in the middle of the corridor.

"Oh, dear gods!" she yelled, rushing to Tai's side and dropping to her knees beside him. She took in the smell of vomit, blood, and semen, saw the torn pants tangled around Tai's knees, and understood instantly what had occurred. "Tai!"

The priest turned his gaze toward her without moving his head; the look in his eyes was eerily calm, blank, listless. "I had a run-in with a drow named Mordecai," he croaked in a shadow of a voice. Cold. Factual. "I lost. I prayed for healing, but I doubt I can walk . . . or at least not very well."

"I'm strong enough to carry you," Nyx said. She placed a warm hand upon his cool forehead, offering a moment's comfort that she doubted would help, then set about righting the priest's clothes.

* * *

Entreri stepped out of the portal and stood very still, trying to fight off the dizziness and faint nausea the unexpected teleportation had caused. After a few moments, he took stock of his environment: he was outside in the forest again, surrounded by the smell of mint and the chirping of crickets. Jarlaxle leaned against a nearby tree, his great floppy hat tilted slightly backward on his head. "A hidden portal in the passageway?" the assassin wondered aloud. 

"It would seem so." The elf folded his arms across his chest. "We are, in fact, only twenty feet from the clearing where we left our horses."

Entreri scowled at the trees looming around him. "Does that mean Mordecai escaped into the forest as well?"

"I do not believe so. You found no trapdoors?"

Entreri shrugged. "I found what appeared to be a hidden door, but even my best efforts could not open it."

"There was no doubt some magic involved." Jarlaxle frowned. "Curious. Obviously Mordecai is a spellcaster, yet in all the time he's served in Bregan D'aerthe, we had no indication he was a wizard."

"I saw him cast a spell the first time I met him," Entreri said.

"When he attacked you?" Jarlaxle asked, obviously curious.

"No. I saw him the night before he attacked me, although he was disguised as a surface elf at the time." Entreri thought for a moment. "He healed a cat, oddly enough. I wonder . . . is he perhaps a priest?"

Jarlaxle smiled wryly. "Ah, yes. That is most likely it. We are dealing with a priest."

"Webs within webs, plots within plots," the assassin murmured.

Jarlaxle seemed merely intrigued. "Most certainly." He titled his hat back into place. "But what of our companions? Shall we remain here and hope they join us? Or shall we go back in search for them?"

Entreri's frown deepened, and he did not reply.

"I have faith our companions have survived," Jarlaxle said in the face of that scowl, "but if they haven't returned within a few minutes, we should go in after them."

Entreri nodded, and they waited in silence. Their concern was abated momentarily when they saw a figure enter the trees, but then they realized Nyx was carrying Tai slung over her shoulder.

"What happened?" Jarlaxle called, running up to the pair.

Nyx's face was stony. "He's badly injured. He says you have the ability to heal him." She eased Tai onto his feet, where he wavered, apparently off-balance.

Jarlaxle pulled out his healing orb and immediately began murmuring the spell. Tai stood stiffly within Nyx's grasp, his back to Entreri and Jarlaxle. The assassin narrowed his eyes, immediately uneasy. From this angle, he couldn't see any injuries; only Tai's posture revealed his pain. Still, something was worse than wrong.

"That should be enough," Jarlaxle said after several more moments. "Do you feel any lingering pain?"

Without turning around, Tai shook his head.

"Let's get back to Olostin's Hold," Nyx said curtly. "We'll regroup and finish them off later."

Jarlaxle started to speak, but he closed his mouth as he met Nyx's stare. The elf traded glances with Entreri, who merely shrugged; Jarlaxle frowned but saddled up along with Entreri, Nyx, and Tai and rode with them in silence. The woman seemed grim and distracted, while the boy appeared unnaturally calm—almost in a mindless trance. Since Entreri and Jarlaxle were focused on any possible dangers lurking about, nothing was said during the entire trip into the village.

The group returned to their small inn, and Nyx immediately took Tai up to his room, leaving Jarlaxle and Entreri to order supper in the near-empty tavern.

"They are acting strangely," Jarlaxle said.

Entreri, still angry over his run-in with Mordecai, merely nodded in response.

"Something has happened."

Entreri glanced at the elf, feeling uneasy once again, but didn't reply since Nyx had alighted on the stairs and was making her way toward them.

Supper passed in tense silence, and even after the meal, neither Nyx nor Entreri had calmed. When the barmaid took away their dishes, the assassin jumped to his feet and began to pace back and forth across the empty tavern, trying hard not to think about his near-miss. Still, before he could shove the thoughts away, Mordecai's words returned to him—the implication that the drow would make him beg for the experience of having his body torn and his pride ground into dust. The insinuation that Mordecai would make him desire to be broken.

Entreri had growled in pure rage before he even realized he'd made any noise at all, and without thinking, he solidly punched the nearest wall. The impact caused several plaques to fall to the floor, and a few glasses tinkled on a nearby shelf. Suddenly aware both of himself and his uncharacteristic outburst, the assassin closed his eyes and counted to twenty slowly. Then he looked at his now-throbbing fist, only to find that he hadn't even bruised the skin. He grunted, impressed despite himself, and turned back toward the room where Jarlaxle and Nyx stared at him with utter shock. Entreri realized belated how truly odd he was behaving.

Nyx stood and walked over to him. "Why don't we get some fresh air?"

Entreri snorted, but he didn't resist the woman as she grabbed his elbow and steered him outside. They stood on the wooden sidewalk, next to the tavern window, but didn't speak at first. Entreri stared into the mostly deserted street for long moments before glancing at Nyx. The yellow light shining from the window awakened golden highlights in her auburn hair, but she kept her back to the light, her arms folded tightly against her chest. A sad, troubled frown turned down the corners of her mouth.

"What is it?" Entreri asked, more softly than he had intended.

Nyx met his gaze, and her dark eyes seemed to implore him. "Please, I . . . I don't know what happened to you back at the tower to anger you so, and I . . . I don't know whether you'll care or—or even if you have the capacity to care . . . but please . . . if there's any part of you that considers Tai your friend, go check on him. He . . ." She paused, clenching her jaw tightly. "He was hurt very badly. Mordecai . . ." She suddenly turned halfway away from Entreri, shutting her eyes and dropping her arms. She clenched her fists at her sides. "Damn that bastard! I hope he rots in the abyss!"

To his surprise, Entreri experienced a moment's fear, but it was quickly swallowed in a growing anger. "Nyx, what did Mordecai do?"

The monk presented her back to the man, but her tensed shoulders betrayed her. "The worst thing I can think of," she said, and the rage and grief grated her voice.

_"Shhh, child,"_ a ghostly voice whispered in Entreri's mind. _"You want to be a good boy for Daddy, don't you?"_ The assassin smacked the thought away, but Mordecai's voice joined in an instant later: _"forcing someone to beg me to ride them like an animal is a pleasure that transcends all boundaries."_

Entreri growled to himself and dashed back through the door before Nyx could utter another word. He ran past Jarlaxle without looking at him and took the stairs three at a time. _That bastard!_ he thought. _If Mordecai . . . if that drow dared to . . .!_ Entreri couldn't seem to get his thoughts organized. _I'll kill him_ became his only thought. _If Mordecai actually . . . I'll kill the bastard, and then I'll have him resurrected from the dead just so I can kill him again!_

* * *

_A/N: I would just like tell you all that I had an extremely hard time writing this chapter. Originally, the chapter contained a semi-graphic rape scene, which was the hardest scene I've ever written. I had decided to portray the rape to enable readers to feel the extent of Tai's horror and pain. However, I realized I was making an assumption; some readers would feel plenty of horror and pain on Tai's behalf without the actual scene. Furthermore, I wouldn't want to traumatize any of my readers. _

_Another difficulty I experienced in making the decision was my personal reaction to the situation. Once I realized where I needed the characters to go (in other words, once I decided to write the scene), I felt so depressed I got stalled in the middle of chapter two. My muse left me for days. Even though Tai's not a real person, it genuinely hurt me to write the scene. It still hurts, even though the rape is now implied. In other words, it was not a decision I made lightly, and this is true for at least two reasons: firstly, I had both character development and plot issues in mind; secondly, I consider rape a very serious topic. In fact, I'm highly concerned about the implications of sexual violence (which is why I keep returning to it in my fanfics), and I am bothered by movies, novels, and stories which make light of sexual violence. Let's not even discuss how I react to things that make rape seem justified (the proverbial "she asked for it"). _

Therefore, I decided to leave the rape scene implied. I didn't want the scene, in its horror, to overshadow the rest of the story, nor did I feel that this particular story would benefit from such a graphic scene. Also, I believe many readers, myself included, couldn't read even an implied rape scene without being horrified—I believe that we care enough to hurt even for a fictional character. If that is so, I consider it a good thing: "Loss of empathy might well be the most enduring and deep-cutting scar of all"—Drizzt.


	6. Chapter 6

"_And I have known the eyes already, known them all—  
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,  
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,  
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,  
Then how should I begin  
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?"_

**Chapter Six**

Entreri forced himself to slow to a walk as he approached Tai's door. He knocked, but when he received no answer, he let himself in. The boy sat at the small dressing table, staring listlessly into the cloudy mirror before him. A single oil lamp burned on the table, leaving the rest of the room in darkness; even the heavy drapes were pulled across the window, shutting out the moonlight. Entreri noted the smell of lye soap hanging in the air, as well as the fact the priest wore new clothes now. Inexplicably, those details troubled him. At the sound of the door opening, Tai had glanced to the side, but upon seeing Entreri, he returned his gaze to the oval mirror.

"Tai?" Entreri approached a step, only to stop. For a moment, the assassin experienced possibly the worst confusion in his life: why was he here? What was this feeling? What was he trying to say or do? And why should he even bother to say or do anything?

Then a mental image presented itself in Entreri's mind—Tai sitting by him on the pew in the abandoned temple after they'd killed Socor. Entreri could see the dilapidated sanctuary so clearly, it was almost as though he'd been transported through time: the sunset, which filtered through fragments of glass hanging in the windows, created tiny rainbows. Dust motes, highlighted by the sun's rays, danced lazily in the air, and birds chirped in the rafters. Tai had been resting his head on Entreri's shoulder, something the assassin had allowed despite the uneasiness it caused him, but then the boy straightened and smiled at Entreri, trying one last time to convert him to the ways of Hoar. "The blessing of an interested god produces miracles," Tai had said with his signature smile as he'd patted Entreri's arm. "Please remember that."

_Why did your god not spare you this?_ Entreri wanted to ask, and all his confusion vanished. _That question seems too familiar,_ he thought. _Just as Tyr turned his back on the evil crimes his priest committed upon me, Hoar has . . ._

No, Entreri told himself, he was jumping to conclusions. He needed to make sure that his interpretation of Nyx's words had been correct. He stepped up to the dressing table. "Tai?"

The boy looked at him once again, and in his dark eyes Entreri saw a well of fear, humiliation, and guilt. Entreri had never seen such pain. The horror quavering in Tai's facial expression seemed to pierce the assassin like a dozen hot needles being driven through his gut. An angry prickling sensation burned its way up his throat. _I was correct!_ Entreri thought. The assassin's brutal spike of rage seemed to ram a molten-hot rod from his stomach up into his sinuses, making his teeth ache and his eyes burn. "Bastard!" he yelled, slamming his fist upon the dressing table.

Tai jumped and looked away, shame written upon every inch of his body from his red cheeks to his slumped shoulders. He wrapped his arms across his stomach and hunched forward.

Entreri had never seen such pain, but he knew such pain. He reached out to . . . to . . .? To do what? Entreri frowned and simply grasped the boy's shoulder. "Look at me."

But Tai's gaze remained aimed downward.

Entreri gripped the boy's chin in one hand and steadily forced him to look him in the eyes. "Do not behave so. You are not some spineless victim. You are a man who has had the strength to survive another's sickness. You should take pride in that."

Tears now stood in the boy's wide brown eyes.

Entreri grabbed Tai's shoulders with both hands. "Listen to me: Mordecai will pay for what he has done. He will die for it." Entreri released Tai and left the room, unintentionally slamming the door behind him.

* * *

Still standing outside the tavern, Nyx leaned against the building and wrapped her arms around herself. The monk stared at the cracks in the wooden sidewalk for several minutes, trying to compose herself. Silence reigned in the shadowy street, broken only by the footsteps of an occasional passerby. Clouds now filled the sky, blocking the half moon, and the hush that had fallen over the normally boisterous village seemed in deference to the horror which had occurred this night.

Nyx was unsure whether she'd done the right thing in confiding in Entreri, but the assassin and Jarlaxle had to know something unusually serious had happened. If they hadn't figured it out yet, they would the next time they tried to speak with Tai. Still, telling Entreri—a man rumored to be a dangerous, cold-blooded assassin—about her friend's experience seemed wrong somehow. On the other hand, Tai had spoken well of the man, had even spoken of him with affection. So if there were the slightest chance Entreri liked Tai as well, the assassin needed to know what had happened. However, if Entreri did not care . . .

Nyx stopped herself mid-thought, trying to rein in her overprotective feelings. Even in the few months she'd been working with Tai, Nyx had already started thinking of him as her younger brother. She realized this was because Tai reminded her of her real younger brother; their personalities were similar—optimistic, cheerful, and unusually wise for their ages. Of course, the monk had sacrificed her closeness to her family for her skills and duties, so perhaps she'd adopted Tai to fill that void. Still, her reasons hardly mattered to her. All she cared about was the fact Tai had experienced the violation which was her own worst nightmare, and her resulting anger was equal to what she'd feel had Tai been a blood relative. To think that her "brother" had been . . . been . . .!

Nyx unfolded her arms suddenly, punching the building so hard that the window shook. If she had just found Tai a bit sooner, if she had just . . . just . . . There were so many things that had gone wrong this evening!

_Wait,_ Nyx thought. _What exactly did happen here tonight?_ A sudden, horrible possibility presented itself to her, and before the thought even fully formed in her mind, she stomped back inside the tavern.

Jarlaxle, now the only patron left in the tavern, still sat at their table. The barkeep was wiping down the counter, apparently not expecting any further customers, and the man didn't even glance at Nyx as she stormed past him toward the dark elf.

The mercenary glanced up from his glass of wine when Nyx stopped before the table and propped her hands on her hips. "Yes?" he asked.

The monk stared at him. "Level with me."

Nyx paused as she heard a door slam upstairs. Jarlaxle glanced upward at the sound, but the monk kept her gaze on him.

"Level with you concerning what?" Jarlaxle asked, returning his attention to Nyx.

"About tonight, of course." Nyx narrowed her eyes. "Did you know what would happen? Did you even plan for it to happen?" The monk watched Jarlaxle, trying in vain to read his facial expression. "Were you aware that bastard Mordecai would be there with his goons—and did you therefore maneuver us into the position of fighting them while you dealt with him? Because I have a horrible feeling that our purpose was not really reconnaissance—that instead this was some kind of trap you had planned."

Jarlaxle appeared grave. "You know little of me, but consider this: if I had truly known for a fact Mordecai was at the tower, and if I had planned to kill him this night, do you really think he would still live? That any of them would still live? I admit I had several plans and strategies in place should Mordecai and Evendur's murderer turn out to be one and the same person, but—"

"But what?" Nyx asked. "It seems to me that you knew more than you revealed; you had a greater plan than you explained to us. And because you did not adequately forewarn us or trust us with that information—because you kept your suspicions or backup plans from us—Tai has been terribly injured."

Jarlaxle's gaze was cool, unruffled. "Can you so be sure of my guilt, Holy Monk? Especially when one of my objectives was to keep you from rushing headlong into vengeance before you understood what you were facing—or, rather, before we could verify who we were facing?" The elf fingered his wine glass. "But before we descend into some meaningless, pointless argument, do explain what has happened to Tai. I understand he was injured, but what more has occurred?"

For a moment, Nyx was so angry that all she could do was grit her teeth and clench her fists. Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply for several seconds, then fixed Jarlaxle with a penetrating stare. She might as well be both honest and blunt and see how the drow reacted. "This Mordecai of yours _raped_ Tai."

Jarlaxle grew suddenly still. "Raped?"

Nyx leaned over the table. "Raped."

A dozen emotions flashed through the elf's one uncovered eye in that second, but the cool visage of the mercenary returned a mere moment later. "Is that what you just told Entreri?"

Nyx straightened again. "Yes."

Jarlaxle stood gracefully and locked gazes with Nyx. "You may never believe that I did not plan the battle this evening, but you must believe that I would certainly never plan for such a thing to happen to a friend."

Nyx frowned.

Jarlaxle turned away, heading for the stairs. "If you'll excuse me, I have an assassin to attend to."

Nyx watched the elf climb the stairs and found herself unsure what she should believe; after all, she'd always heard one should fear and distrust dark elves. She did have Tai's testimony about Jarlaxle to take into account, but since Jarlaxle was _drow_, her feelings on the issue were a bit confused.

But more confusing still were the elf's parting words. Why did Jarlaxle think he needed to attend to Entreri? The monk wanted to believe that the reason was Entreri actually cared for Tai and would be upset. She wanted to believe Tai's confidence in and affection for Entreri were not misplaced.

Still, this _was_ Artemis Entreri she was placing her faith in. She hoped she wouldn't prove a fool.

* * *

Jarlaxle was lost in thought as he climbed the stairs. Four problems demanded his attention, and as per his talents, he dedicated a corner of his mind to each: first, he'd slightly underestimated Mordecai, who apparently had hidden his clerical abilities. This didn't trouble the clever mercenary, though. The problem would be resolved, and Jarlaxle was already formulating a new plan.

Second, the likelihood he would have to return to Menzoberranzan, at least briefly, presented itself again. However, Jarlaxle would wait and see how things progressed with Mordecai before making that decision. For now, he ignored the growing stubborn streak that flared when he considered returning home; instead, he began strategizing for that possibility.

Third, Tai had been raped, which was disturbing. As callous and selfish as Jarlaxle could be, he was also capable of compassion. It was a trait he'd admired in his friend Zaknafein and his son, Drizzt—and a quality he also possessed (though rarely used because of tactical reasons). Of course, there was no tactical disadvantage to caring that Tai had been raped. In fact . . .

This brought him to his final track of thought: Artemis Entreri. Jarlaxle's pet project . . . Jarlaxle's (dare he say it?) friend. The human would deny it to his grave, but Entreri liked Tai. The cunning drow, ever a good judge of others, could tell. So how would a man who had been raped as a child react to the rape of his fledging friend? Would Entreri not care? Would he be angry on Tai's behalf, just as he was on his own? Would he, perhaps, reach out to this young man who was really still a boy? Was Entreri even capable of reaching out?

Jarlaxle saw an opportunity here, if he could bring himself to take it. He was in the position to encourage Entreri to help Tai and to give Entreri the _means_ to help Tai—and, subsequently, himself. But what it required of Jarlaxle . . .

The elf stopped outside the room he and Entreri shared. All his life, Jarlaxle had kept others guessing. He'd never revealed much about himself or his past—it was too dangerous. In a world of paranoia, the crafty elf had woven around himself so many protective webs and illusions that he'd nearly buried his true self. Such was the price of security, of survival.

But could he give Entreri just one tiny piece of himself? Could he do so if it meant fulfilling his self-made promise to help the man who so intrigued him, the man who was becoming a . . . a friend? Could he do it for the tactical advantages which would result from fulfilling the promise? Or was he running too much of a risk?

Jarlaxle was unused to feeling hesitant, and he didn't like it. Committing himself to a decision—and putting all his confidence behind it—he opened the door and entered the room.

Entreri lay on his bed in the near-darkness just staring at the ceiling. A single candle flicked on the nightstand, casting the long, jumping shadows of the bedposts onto the wall. The man's mask of stoicism was firmly in place, his features expressionless.

Jarlaxle wasn't fooled for a second.

The elf closed the door and sat on the edge of his own bed. "So, our friend Tai has had a traumatizing experience."

Entreri did not respond, even to blink.

"I would have never imagined Mordecai would do such a thing." Jarlaxle paused. "On the other hand, Mordecai possesses the typical streak of cruelty and sickness I find in most drow; he'd likely do anything as long as it caused his victim terror and humiliation."

"I am not surprised by anything the drow do," Entreri said, his tone devoid of inflection. "And it was his plan to do the same to me."

_So we've returned to being cold and factual again,_ Jarlaxle thought. "Indeed, I walked in on the end of that. Mordecai's pride will not recover soon from the thorough attack you launched upon him as a result."

"I suggest we hurt his pride a great deal more." The sudden icy gleam in Entreri's eyes would have unnerved a lesser person. "I suggest we remove all external organs which identify him as male."

Jarlaxle stroked his chin with one finger. "I'm sure that could be arranged." He paused. "In the meantime, we have a badly injured priest to deal with—and by injured, I don't mean physical wounds."

The icy expression vanished from Entreri's face, and he just continued staring at the ceiling.

"It is in our best interests to help Tai," Jarlaxle pointed out. "We'll need both Tai's and Nyx's help if Mordecai acquires the _Kagaor ki Tamal_—and I entertain no doubts that it is he who searches for the relic. Not to mention that having a cleric in one's arsenal is always advantageous . . . although if Tai loses his faith, he will no longer be a cleric."

Entreri smirked. "And how do we help Tai?"

"We need to make sure Tai does not get caught in a lie," Jarlaxle said, hoping the strange declaration would capture Entreri's interest.

The ploy worked. The assassin sat up and considered the drow's odd words. "A lie?"

"Yes." Jarlaxle paused. "You spent enough time in Menzoberranzan to know that power and pain are a function of the intricate webs the drow weave—intrigue, deception, lies. All the internal hells that beings—human or drow—reside in are the result of believing some lie is truth. If you expose and let go of the lie, you will both rid yourself of the hell and empower yourself."

Entreri looked skeptical. "I'm not sure I can agree." Still, he found his full attention riveted to the drow, whose words had shocked him with their sincerity . . . and air of wisdom.

Jarlaxle took off his hat and set it on his bed. The elf seemed for a change so earnest that Entreri found himself leaning forward. "It's true," the drow said. "For example, there are many lies the priestesses and matrons try to instill in drow males: you're a lesser being just for being male; you're worthless; you're powerless; you should be passive and obey blindly."

Entreri nodded.

"These lessons are taught to males from an early age and are reinforced throughout a male's life. They're taught through brainwashing and torture." The mercenary grinned wickedly. "But do you think I believe any of these lies?"

Entreri blinked, overcome by the powerful implications of Jarlaxle's words. "No, you don't." He considered the confident, charismatic drow before him. "And how did you manage to escape the typical male's fate?"

Jarlaxle was unusually quiet for a moment, almost as though he were considering not continuing. "It started with the fact I was dissatisfied. I traced the dissatisfaction back to its roots and asked myself serious questions about why I thought and believed what I did. Then I pulled it all apart: every assumption, everything about myself and my world that I took for granted as true. And I asked myself, 'Is this really so?' It wasn't."

Entreri's brow furrowed. He momentarily considered the possibility that Jarlaxle was playing some kind of joke on him. However, the drow sounded so serious, and what he described sounded so appropriately thorough and cunning, maybe . . . The assassin hardly knew what to think.

"I make it sound simple, but it takes work," Jarlaxle said, still seeming genuine. "However, the alternative was to live a miserable, boring life in which I was forever limited, my potential wasted. I wanted to be successful, prosperous. So I picked away at the lies and replaced them with self-empowerment. Then I simply made my thoughts reality." Jarlaxle shrugged gracefully, as though it were that easy.

Entreri snorted. Still . . . _Clinging to a lie,_ he thought. _Like believing that if I navigated alone this hell that is life, everyone else should also. _

_This hell that is life . . . _

_This hell._

"Everyone visits the nine hells—or the abyss—at least once in their lives," Jarlaxle said, an odd, wry smile upon his face. "But it is an individual's choice whether they remain there."

For a moment, Entreri feared the elf had somehow read his mind, but Jarlaxle's peculiar smile hinted at a different reason for his comment. "Life is hell," the man whispered, both believing it and seeing it as an assumption.

"There are many lies Tai could come to believe because of his experience," Jarlaxle continued as though Entreri had never spoken. "He could decide he is weak or is to somehow to blame for what happened. He could decide his god has abandoned him. But none of these things are true. In believing them, all Tai would achieve is self-hatred and bitterness, and his resulting anger and misery would inevitably cause him to lash out and hurt others. It achieves nothing. There is no profit to be had in it."

Entreri frowned. "What you say sounds logical, but how do you stop someone from believing a lie?"

"By counteracting it with the truth, for one. And in Tai's case, he needs to spend time communing with his god about these things—healing is one function of a goodly or just god, after all."

Entreri snorted once more, but he didn't bother to disagree since Tai was a priest.

"But you, Artemis, need to be the one to assure Tai that he is not weak or to blame," Jarlaxle said, his manner still gravely serious.

Entreri's expression turned skeptical again. "Me?" he asked, a note of irritation working into his voice.

"Yes, you. Tai looks up to you, cares for you, as though you are his older brother. Your words have the power to help him . . . or hurt him."

Entreri scowled.

Jarlaxle grinned, the air of the cunning mercenary suddenly back in place, and put his hat back on. "You actually listened to everything I said! I'm impressed. Your attention span outside of battle is sometimes lackluster."

Entreri graced the elf with a less than complimentary gesture.

Jarlaxle laughed and stood, heading out of the room. "Now if you'd apply all the wisdom and lessons I've honored you with, you might actually become witty and clever."

The elf had to jump through the door, then, to dodge Entreri's dagger as he threw it at him. The assassin could hear him laughing as he walked down the hall. Still, it was not lost on the man that Jarlaxle had just given Entreri more of himself in this one short conversation than he had in all the time they'd known one another. And try as he might to not care, to not react, to push it away, Artemis Entreri could not stop himself from feeling deeply complimented. Still . . .

"If Jarlaxle only ever reveals half of the truth, what about his past has he left unsaid?" Entreri wondered aloud. To his surprise, he found the implications discomforting.

* * *

It was half past midnight when Entreri softly knocked upon Tai's door and entered the dark, silent room. Only one candle burned, so with the cloudy night, the room had been overcome by a mass of shadows which seemed to bunch in the corners and loom overhead. At the man's entrance, Nyx glanced up from her post by Tai's bed and gestured for the assassin to be quiet. Entreri walked up to her chair and whispered, "Asleep?"

She nodded. "Finally." She hesitated, a trace of sadness flitting across her features. "He asked me to stay with him," she whispered. "He didn't want to be alone."

Entreri frowned to himself for a moment, wondering if he could even begin to untangle his motivations for being here if he were inclined to do so—and he wasn't. However, it hardly mattered. As Jarlaxle had said, there were benefits to helping Tai. "I'll watch him now."

Nyx shook her head. "I'll stay. I couldn't sleep if I tried," she whispered.

"I didn't mean for you to sleep," Entreri whispered back with a smirk. "I want you to visit your friend Aedelvana and see if she can scry Mordecai."

"In the middle of the night?"

Entreri gestured to Tai. "Do you feel that the situation does not warrant it? Jarlaxle says that since we have one of Mordecai's falchions, Aedelvana shouldn't have trouble. And we really can't afford to waste any time." Entreri's smirk grew. "Jarlaxle kindly requests that you take the falchion to your friend as soon as possible."

Nyx stood abruptly—if silently—and scowled at the man. "Very well. But you best take good care of Tai while I'm away."

"Or what?" Entreri whispered with dark amusement.

Nyx grinned and patted the nunchaku which hung on her belt. "You'll see." As if to underscore her point, she kept her hand on the weapon as she left the room.

With a quiet snicker, Entreri sat in the chair by Tai's bed and gazed at the sleeping boy. The priest had twisted and turned so badly that the sheets were wrapped around him and he lay at an odd angle, mostly on his back. His breathing was labored—no doubt he was having a nightmare—and a fine sheen of sweat covered his brow.

_Did I look like this in my sleep when I was a child?_ Entreri wondered, then killed the thought instantly.

Tai's breathing evened out a few moments later, leaving Entreri to draw up battle plans in his mind—all the strategies and techniques he could use against Mordecai. The drow was a fine swordsman, and wicked with his daggers, but he fell short of Drizzt's caliber.

Then Mordecai's words returned to Entreri once again—not the sexual threats, but his speech on Jarlaxle: _"You do realize, don't you, that Jarlaxle calls everyone 'friend.' That you are not anything special. Jarlaxle is using you—just as he's used you several times before. Have you not seen all the ways he's manipulated you?"_

Entreri frowned, remembering the argument he'd had with Jarlaxle months ago after hearing the mercenary speak with Kimmuriel. Indeed, sometimes Entreri wondered how he'd ended up traveling at Jarlaxle's side, given that the drow had once held him prisoner in Menzoberranzan. Yet when Jarlaxle had come to Calimport, there had been an odd undercurrent of . . . of almost happiness in Jarlaxle's mood when around Entreri. A real sense of camaraderie, a sense that Jarlaxle was fascinated by Entreri and enjoyed his presence—most of the time. The assassin had never known anyone to react to him in quite such a fashion.

And now there was this semi-revelation of self which Jarlaxle had bestowed upon him earlier in the night.

_Could Mordecai be both right and wrong?_ Entreri wondered, unsure how far he should extend his trust to Jarlaxle. After all, the thought that he'd been studied and manipulated did not appeal to him.

_Mordecai wants you to doubt Jarlaxle,_ Entreri's strategic mind whispered, and the assassin recognized the truth in it and dismissed the thoughts.

The room remained quiet for a few minutes longer before Tai jolted out of his sleep with a yell, sweat pouring down his face. Even as Tai sat up, the assassin could tell he was going to be sick, so with the toe of his boot, Entreri calmly caught the lip of the clean bedpan by his chair and deftly flipped it up and into Tai's lap. Sure enough, the instant the boy grasped the pan, he vomited into it.

_Just like me,_ Entreri admitted to himself, remembering years of nightmares which had plagued him until roughly age fifteen. _He's experiencing my level of suffering,_ the assassin thought with sadistic satisfaction. _I endured it, and now he has to, also. It's only fair that I not be the only one targeted for such torture._

Yet even as Entreri thought the words, they seemed somehow . . . unfitting? Inaccurate?

Tai set the pan on the nightstand without meeting Entreri's eyes. "Sorry," he mumbled, his voice flat. A blush joined the general flush in the boy's cheeks.

"Forget it. Just go back to sleep," the assassin ordered Tai. "Don't succumb to the nightmares, and don't worry about being attacked in your sleep. I'm sitting right here."

Tai gave him a half smile, then stared at his lap for long moments. He picked at his fingernails, and the flush in his cheeks moved down his neck. "You should know," he whispered, "that . . . he said . . . he said . . ." The boy's words trailed off as he bit his lip, and for a moment his jaw clenched, as though he'd experienced a flash of anger.

Entreri frowned at Tai. "Who said what?"

Tai lay back down and rolled over, presenting his back to Entreri. Still, the assassin could clearly hear the whispered words—and the faint undercurrent of anger behind them—when the priest finally spoke again. "Mordecai said that . . . what he did to me . . . to tell you . . . it was for you."

For a moment, Entreri was so furious his thoughts became a haze. "He _what?_"

At Entreri's second uncharacteristic outburst of the night, Tai turned to face him again, but whatever ghost of anger had surfaced in the boy moments earlier seemed to have already faded back into numbness or shock. Tai stared at the assassin with an empty, hollow expression and did not reply.

Discomforted by his further show of emotion, Entreri gazed into Tai's glazed eyes and tried to swallow his anger, to stop any other reaction from showing; however, he found himself clenching his fists and grating his teeth so hard his jaw hurt. Jumbled thoughts seemed to race and crash against each other in his mind. _Sick! And weak! That bastard—he should have—why did he not—the battle was between the two of us!_ Entreri couldn't seem to relax his jaw. _If Mordecai were even half a warrior, he would not have . . .! He— _

Entreri reached up with one hand and roughly rubbed his face. He just couldn't seem to order his thoughts. Everything seemed wrong. Mordecai's actions seemed wrong, Entreri's own reaction to the knowledge seemed wrong. That he should react at all seemed wrong, and yet it seemed equally wrong that he shouldn't react. After all, it was unjust for Mordecai to not keep the battle just between the two of them. But winning was more important than fairness in a fight! Still, what Mordecai had done was sick. Entreri shouldn't care if it was sick or not! But Mordecai was weak. Yes . . . he _was_ weak. It was only natural for Entreri to feel disgust toward Mordecai; nothing as weak and pathetic as Mordecai could fail to invoke revulsion in someone as strong as Entreri. Yes, of course. How could he have doubted himself?

Yet a sigh welled up in the assassin's chest and forced its way out. He dropped his hand into his lap and just looked at the wide-eyed boy lying before him. Entreri was experiencing it once more, he realized. That strange sense of resignation, of sadness he'd felt as a child living in the streets. He hadn't understood those feelings then, and he wasn't sure he understood them now. But . . . "This is the way the world is," Entreri said quietly. "Brutal, violent, and unfair." Yet there it came again—this anger that had followed him almost his entire life.

Tai's brow furrowed, his numb shock apparently momentarily shaken by distress. "It doesn't matter to you that—that . . ." The words seemed to choke in his throat. "It doesn't matter?"

_He said it was for you. _

That means I was your surrogate.

It doesn't matter?

The anger, the rage in Entreri welled up even further. Faintly, it seemed, a voice screamed from deep inside the assassin's soul. A voice that had perhaps been screaming all these years. The impulse came, then, to push it away. Always. Act. Don't reflect, just act.

_It doesn't matter? _

If you can't save yourself, you deserve your fate.

Life is hell.

It doesn't matter.

It doesn't matter that life is hell.

Clinging to a lie.

"It . . . matters . . ." Entreri whispered, but the words were spoken to himself, really.

Tai had knotted the sheets in his hands and seemed on the verge of tears. He looked away. "I am . . . glad . . . to hear you say that."

The assassin focused on the boy at those words and felt the strange urge to lash out at him, to invalidate the boy's relief. _There is no comfort to be had! Life is hell; conquer it and grow stronger!_

But the voice in Entreri screamed still, and the assassin did not speak, did not allow even a hint of anger onto his face.

Tai glanced back at Entreri, and the assassin could see the anxiousness and total sense of loss on the boy's face. "Why did this happen?" the boy whispered.

Entreri snorted. "Because drow are evil," he snapped, instantly irritated. Even if Tai's clerical powers were needed, did the assassin really want to spend his time and energy pulling this boy about of his hell? He should pull himself out of it!

Tai ducked his head into his pillow, and the assassin realized how pointless his cynicism and empty words were. His thoughts fell flat, then, leaving Entreri confused and tired.

"Where would I even begin?" Entreri asked aloud, although the flamboyant drow to whom the question was aimed was nowhere nearby. "How do I even start?"

Tai looked back at the assassin with a frown of confusion. "Start what?"

_To explain something I never understood. To explain something that can never be explained. To provide a reason where there is none or to teach you my attitudes or to . . ._ Entreri sighed. "Sleep. That damn drow will die ten thousand deaths before he'll reach you again."

A tiny, sad smile curled up one corner of Tai's mouth. "I don't doubt it." He closed his eyes, and the angry, bitter assassin wearing the mask of stoicism found himself feeling odd.

Entreri stared into the darkness and listened to Tai's breathing as the significance of what he'd said sank in. _Protection or vengeance for another? Surely not._ Yet he held no doubt in his heart or mind that Mordecai had to die.

But, then again, why would he doubt it? Mordecai wanted him dead, so the drow had to be eliminated. It was as simple as that.

Was it not?


	7. Chapter 7

"_Do I dare  
Disturb the universe?  
In a minute there is time  
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse."_

**Chapter Seven**

Crickets chirped and twigs snapped in the forest encircling them; the leaves rustling in the wind and the animals jumping from limb to limb reminded them they were surrounded by life. Clouds hid whatever moonlight might have pierced the canopy of the trees, shrouding them in shadows and darkness, but they were not impeded. They were drow.

Mordecai led his remaining five soldiers northeast through the High Forest toward the ruins that, according to Evendur's scrolls, contained the _Kagaor ki Tamal._ Time was of the essence now. He had a task to accomplish, an empire to overthrow, and he required the item's magic to do so. With Jarlaxle now mobilized against him, Mordecai had to acquire the mirror quickly, lest his plan to seize control of Bregan D'aerthe be subverted.

However, the walk to the ruins was long and tedious, leaving Mordecai to his thoughts. The drow tried not to dwell upon the fact he only had five soldiers left, tried not to consider how much he'd underestimated Jarlaxle and his pet humans, but his anger and humiliation kept cycling the thought through his mind. It was unforgivable that he could have made such a mistake! Was he a fool?

Mordecai clenched his jaw, but he immediately reminded himself that he'd scored one victory, that he'd brought one of Jarlaxle's pets humiliation. As distasteful as the mechanics of the act had been, Mordecai would cherish forever the human boy's horror and terror. The drow smiled into the darkness, enjoying the gust of wind which rushed over him and ruffled his stock of white hair. Even the whispering of leaves and murmur of a nearby creek seemed soothing now. Yes, the memory of the boy's terror eased Mordecai's frustration.

Feeling appeased, the drow hugged to his chest the restless white animal he carried in one arm. The beast, which he'd named Cat, had protested at first to being confined, but when Cat had hissed and swatted Mordecai's nose for the attempted "imprisonment," the drow knew he had to keep her. Such attitude! Such a kindred spirit, even if it were a mere animal. The beast had fluctuated between squirming and sleeping during their trip thus far, although right now she had her nose tucked up under Mordecai's chin and was making that vibrating sound of hers almost directly into his ear.

The scout to Mordecai's left looked at him oddly as he hugged Cat again, but Mordecai ignored him. These drow had not yet begun to understand the importance and value of the surface world and what it had to offer.

_They're scrying for you,_ a voice whispered in his mind. Mordecai stopped and focused on the spiritual threads that bound his soul to his deity. _They will catch up to you._ The words were almost a taunt, but they were followed by a clear threat: _Do not fail me._

The remainder of Mordecai's scout party had halted with him, and he turned to them with a wicked grin. "We are being scryed," he announced. "Our enemies are tracking us. We shall set up an ambush."

This time, Mordecai decided, he would not fail.

Of course, lest he try his deity's patience too much, he'd better not.

* * *

Kimmuriel Oblodra had always been afraid of Jarlaxle—it was the fear of respect, the fear of uncertainty (since he couldn't read Jarlaxle's mind), and, above all, the fear of consequences. Those who betrayed, cheated, or impeded Jarlaxle did so only once. The fact that Jarlaxle had dismissed Kimmuriel's betrayal of him over the crystal shard had, in fact, heightened his fear, not lessened it, for it meant that Jarlaxle had woven Kimmuriel into one of his more complex plans. And should Kimmuriel disturb such a plan . . .

So, it was with great unease that Kimmuriel answered Jarlaxle's summons. The handsome drow knew at once that something was wrong since Jarlaxle had summoned him twice in one tenday—an unprecedented event. And when Kimmuriel stepped through his psionic door into the dark alley and saw Jarlaxle's expression (or lack thereof), he became worried, indeed.

"Greetings, Kimmuriel," Jarlaxle said in drow, his tone oddly clinical.

"Greetings," Kimmuriel said, bowing. He was careful to keep his face neutral—not only to hide his nervousness, but to conceal his revulsion at the cramped alley, which stank of ale and urine.

Jarlaxle did not continue speaking at first. Instead, he leaned against the side of one of the wooden buildings which enclosed the alley and simply watched Kimmuriel. The drow tried not to be unnerved, but Jarlaxle radiated cunning, composure, and perfection: his black boots were spotless despite the dirty alley; his dark pants and white shirt were wrinkle-free; and above his hat, the large diatryma feather fluttered gracefully in the cool night breeze. Likewise, the elf's face was utterly stoic, although he did seem at ease, his arms crossed over his chest. However, all the details together suggested someone preparing for a surgical strike, and Jarlaxle's silence and unwavering gaze did nothing to alleviate this impression . . . or Kimmuriel's unease.

"It is interesting that you failed to mention our illustrious Mordecai is a cleric," Jarlaxle said at length.

Kimmuriel's eyes widened. "A . . . cleric?"

"Or perhaps you had somehow mistaken him for a wizard?" Jarlaxle clucked his tongue. "Very sloppy of you, given you are a mind-reader."

Kimmuriel's thoughts spun. "Mordecai? A cleric? No . . . Perhaps he wears some device like your eye patch, or perhaps—"

Jarlaxle interrupted him. "Interesting, also, is the . . . ah . . . loyalty his scout team has shown him. It would seem you outfitted him well." The drow's tone was deceptively lighthearted.

Kimmuriel tried hard to hide his rising panic. "I . . . I allowed Mordecai to assemble his own team."

"Do you truly think I would believe you ignorant enough to make such a mistake?" Jarlaxle asked mildly.

Kimmuriel bowed hastily. "Forgive me, but I was. And I had no knowledge that Mordecai is a cleric. By all accounts, he graduated at the top of his class at Melee-Magthere and showed no interest or aptitude in—"

"More interesting yet is the question of which deity he serves." Jarlaxle narrowed his eyes. "And for what purpose."

Kimmuriel felt lightheaded at that moment, for he realized Jarlaxle had seen the truth in his words and had believed him.

"You have a serious network of moles to flush out," Jarlaxle stated, "or else you are facing a small, strategic, but powerful invasion. Beware, or you shall find yourself awakening in the abyss one morning soon. I want a full report within a tenday. More than that, I want a resolution—or you shall find yourself answering to me in neither a graceful way nor in the surface world."

Not trusting himself to speak, Kimmuriel simply bowed and turned to leave. In fact, he could not leave quickly enough, for he could still feel Jarlaxle's eyes on him as he summoned his psionic door and stepped through into the black silence of the Underdark.

Indeed, Jarlaxle did watch Kimmuriel's departure, but not for the purpose of keeping him unnerved. He merely needed an object to focus his gaze upon as he thought. His mind had already moved past Kimmuriel and the task he'd assigned him, and by the time the blue dimensional door had closed, the mercenary leader had already honed in on the issue behind the problem: his future.

For once his was alone, Jarlaxle was left to face the truth that, despite his threat to Kimmuriel, he did not wish to ever return home. He could not turn from that reality any longer. As a result, he would have to confront a permanently life-altering decision: did he force himself to return to the dark hole he rightfully belonged in—the matriarchal hell he'd learned to navigate so well? Or did he leave Kimmuriel to his own devices and cut all ties to Menzoberranzan? He would leave himself with few resources if he chose the latter; he would have to rebuild his empire.

But even if he did permanently leave Menzoberranzan, would it leave him? Or would it be the shadow always at his back, slinking around the corners after him and hovering over him in his rest?

Yet, lastly, a final consideration entered Jarlaxle's mind: Artemis Entreri. The man who was beginning to genuinely trust him and care for him, he knew. The man who would be unable to stop himself from feeling betrayed if Jarlaxle simply walked away, simply returned home.

Jarlaxle had thought of Entreri first as his tool, then as his entertainment and profit, but finally as his project and friend. Through all these phases, Entreri had been his accessory—the man at his side. And so it was that Jarlaxle's initial, overwhelming instinct was to consider the implications of _not_ having Entreri at his side . . .

Until he realized that _he_ was also at Entreri's side, and the question was equally whether he should or would leave the human, abandon his company.

And that was the moment Jarlaxle accepted there was something he wanted in life—something he might want even more than power, wealth, and status.

That was the moment Jarlaxle began to suspect that his life had been nearly as empty as Entreri's.

Yes, there _was_ something he wanted, perhaps above all else. But could he garner the strength . . . the courage . . . to risk all he had accomplished and attained to grasp for it?

And even if he did, would the ghost of Menzoberranzan allow him to have it?

Of all the dangerous, intricate, and high-stakes decisions Jarlaxle had ever made, he found this one to be the most difficult.

* * *

Morning descended upon Olostin's Hold with blaring cheerfulness: larks, canaries, and mockingbirds sang lilting tunes from trees and rooftops; golden sunlight poured over the village, warming the townsfolk as they walked to work or market. Jovial voices rang in the streets as lifelong acquaintances greeted each other, and a general sense of bustle enlivened the scene.

To Tai, the cheerfulness made the scene seem disconnected from reality; he felt as though he watched the village not through the glass of an inn window, but through a portal door into another dimension. For a moment, the people scurrying through the streets, laughing and talking, seemed to move too fast, as though under a spell; however, in the next moment they seemed to slow into a crawl, their every footstep and word elongated and warped.

Nyx was standing by Tai at the window, and the boy faintly noted that she seemed uneasy, as though she were unsure what to say. "We are planning to depart this morning to track down Mordecai," she said at last. "Aedelvana was able to scry him for us."

Tai continued to stare out the window; talking seemed too much an effort. Besides, he found it obvious from Nyx's dark traveling cloak and pinned-up auburn hair that a departure was eminent.

"I can understand why you might want to remain here at the inn," she continued, "especially since you didn't sleep well last night. But we really shouldn't separate."

_Separation being part of the problem in the first place,_ Tai thought. "I know."

The monk nodded, and a few minutes passed in silence. "Have you communed with Hoar yet?" she asked softly.

Tai shook his head, a wave of nausea washing over him. "The words . . . seem to slip away from me . . ."

Nyx reached out and squeezed the boy's shoulder, but he pulled away as though burned. The monk bit her lip. "It must be hard," she whispered in the shadow of a voice, "but please try."

Tai simply continued to wordlessly stare out the window. Apparently taking the cue, Nyx left, leaving the boy with the comfort—and simultaneous unease—of isolation.

The priest stared into the street for endless minutes, letting his mind go blank. Strangely, the whole world felt unreal—the voices in the street seemed distant yet too loud; the sun seemed unnaturally bright. Even colors, like the red of the cardinal which landed on the window ledge, seemed odd, washed-out. Likewise, the glass of the window, as Tai experimentally reached out and briefly touched it, felt impossibly smooth and cool. For an odd moment, the priest wondered if his fingertips were actually touching the glass, or if his senses of sight and touch were both being tricked by a cruel dream.

But despite this watery layer of surrealism encompassing everything, Tai's mind would not stay still for long. So many thoughts and images tried to work their way into his consciousness: the sight of Jarlaxle moving off into the night, leaving him alone; Mordecai's face as he spit on Tai and instructed him to "Tell Entreri that was for him." But right now, above all, Tai heard the echo of his own prayer in his head. _"Hoar, help me!"_

And with that thought, a bubble of anger floated to the surface of his mind and pierced the shock and numbness. _Why did this happen to me?_ Tai wondered, frowning. _I did nothing to precipitate such an attack. Why did Hoar allow this to happen? Have I displeased him? Not been a faithful enough priest to him? No, that can't be it . . . I have done all Hoar has asked of me. So why did he allow this to happen?_

Tai clenched his fists in anger. He could understand it if Hoar were an evil god, but Hoar was the god of retribution and poetic justice. Justice! How could a just god allow one of his followers to be raped?

Tears of anger pooled in Tai's eyes, and he growled deep in his throat. He hadn't communed with Hoar the night before, and he wasn't in the mood to now. But even if he were in the mood, why bother? Even if he did commune with Hoar, what guarantee, what assurance would he have that Hoar would receive or act upon his entreaties? Tai had asked for Hoar's blessing and protection prior to entering Mordecai's tower, after all, and the result had been that he had been raped!

A knock sounded at the door, and Tai turned in time to see Entreri step into the room. The assassin took one look at Tai's expression and smirked. "So now you are angry?"

Tai turned away and gazed out the window once more; the people below seemed to be scurrying again. Their shouts and laughter, which had sounded so hollow and distant to Tai, seemed to grow louder—to become almost intrusive. Tai shook his head, trying to clear his mind and focus on Entreri's observation. _Am I angry? Of course, but . . . _

This was a worse case scenario. Tai had been trying to convert Entreri, and now he was confused himself. He wanted to be honest and vent his anger, but he didn't want to make the assassin any more cynical than he already was. Then again, why should he care if Entreri became more cynical? None of this would have happened to him if Tai hadn't been caught in the middle of Entreri and Mordecai's little battle. Tai frowned. No . . . as much as he wanted to be angry at Entreri—to be outraged over being Entreri's surrogate—he couldn't bring himself to feel vindictive. It was just . . . too exhausting. It seemed . . . pointless.

Tai heard no sound as he pondered the dilemma, but when he turned, he found Entreri sitting on his bed and watching him in the attitude of someone ready to listen. Resigning himself to the fact Entreri expected him to reply, the priest inhaled deeply and steeled him to say aloud the words that brought him such great discomfort.

"Hoar has been with me," Tai began hesitantly. "I can't deny his presence or all the prayers he's granted me. But knowing that . . ." He inhaled again, forcing himself to continue. ". . . it makes it that much harder to . . . to understand why this has happened to me."

Entreri nodded. "You're wondering whether you were just the pawn of Hoar—if Hoar really is a just god. Worse, you're wondering if you are merely entertainment for your god. You're asking yourself if you amuse him at your own expense."

Tai stared wide-eyed at Entreri. How did he understand this so well? The boy knew that Entreri had issues with Tyr that related to some abuse or betrayal he'd suffered at the hands of his father, who had been a priest of Tyr. But the assassin's total . . . empathy! . . . was just too uncanny. "Yes, I'm thinking something along those lines."

"I decided long ago that life is a petty play that we are forced to enact with our sweat, tears, and blood for the gods." Entreri's smirk was bitter. "I think it's all of it a farce—the gods may answer your prayers or even empower you, but only as it suits their goals or whims." The assassin paused and seemed to struggle with his next words. "Still . . . there are some who . . ." He sighed and continued in a blunt manner. "Your faith has been important to you. Why do you not simply ask Hoar why he abandoned you and see if you actually get an answer? The worst thing that could happen is that you are answered with silence." The assassin snorted. "Well, unless he tells you that you truly are his pawn and source of amusement."

"That's unlikely," Tai replied, but he couldn't keep the frown off his face. Right now, it felt as though there were a wall between himself and Hoar—the priest wasn't sure he could get through that invisible barrier in order to commune even if he were in the mood to try.

Still, despite his own anger and confusion, Tai found there was one part of what Entreri had said that bothered him more than the rest. "I don't think Hoar has abandoned me," he said, but even as he spoke the words, the priest only believed them with half his heart. _This will never do,_ he thought. _I cannot continue with my faith in such shambles. I cannot continue to doubt Hoar. _

Yet instantly the questions returned, leaving Tai feeling no more confident.

"I suppose I should say that I hope he hasn't," Entreri said wryly. "But you shall find out soon enough. We're leaving in a quarter of an hour. Meet us downstairs when you've finished packing." The assassin stood to leave.

"And if I choose not to go?" Tai asked, for his feelings about seeing Mordecai again were conflicted. One half of his heart begged for avoidance; the other half demanded vengeance.

At these words, Entreri locked his gaze upon Tai, and the boy felt almost as though the man were staring both into and through his soul. The intensity of the assassin's gaze shook him deeply.

"You will go," Entreri stated flatly. "You are not remaining here alone." It was an order, a command that seemed to resonate both within the assassin and within Tai himself in ways that the boy could not name or understand.

Tai nodded, instinctively realizing argument was out of the question, and Entreri left without further comment. Once alone, the priest frowned, feeling like his very soul had been pierced and yet feeling oddly assured at the same time. Just like the night before, Entreri's words and demeanor seemed inconsistent or shifting, occasionally contradictory. Tai had gained enough wisdom through his clerical training to sense this problem, but he felt too confused and preoccupied at the moment to give it any thought. The priest grasped the part that felt reassuring and chose, for now, to ignore the rest. He had enough to deal with already.

* * *

"Mordecai knows we are coming for him, and he'll set up an ambush," Jarlaxle stated flatly.

The group had departed Olostin's Hold midmorning and had stopped for lunch in a grassy clearing. Fortunately, the denseness of the High Forest kept them hidden from any other possible travelers. The canopy of leaves above them shut out a majority of the sunlight, allowing only a few rays of light to dapple the forest floor, and the effect made the clearing seem quiet and private. Satisfied with their chosen spot, the group had settled into a circle around the pile of their packs and had gotten out their dried meat and canteens.

At Jarlaxle's announcement, Nyx and Entreri, who sat side-by-side, had looked up from their meal and eyed the drow across from them. Tai, however, continued to stare down at his half-eaten rations.

"Is that so?" Nyx sounded suspicious.

"Yes," Jarlaxle replied, unperturbed. "It is not so difficult to anticipate his moves."

"Then we should track them following their same course," Nyx said resolutely.

Entreri turned toward her and frowned. "Why should we do that?"

"Because that's the best course of action," she said, like it should be obvious to everyone.

Entreri leaned closer to her. "On the contrary, we should track them but on a parallel course. Stealth is of importance always—but especially when dealing with drow. Besides, if we follow their path, we'll walk right into their trap."

"Not if we _know_ there's a trap!" Nyx bent closer to him as well. "Besides, following a parallel course will not be as easy as you think; this forest is exceptionally dense. It'll be hard enough for us to track them as it is. We'll stick with my plan."

The assassin was now leaning into her face. "We will?" he repeated softly in a tone that promised much pain.

Nyx glared back at him and bent forward into his face as well. "Absolutely damn right we will! I'm from around here, and I know what is best. Look, I know how you Calishite men think, but just because I'm not male doesn't mean I don't know what the hell I'm talking about!"

Entreri's eyes narrowed. "The configuration of a person's sexual organs is of no concern to me, I assure you. Having someone issue me impulsive orders that do not take into account half of the facts at hand is, though."

"Oh?" Their noses were an inch apart by now. "Well, you can bore little holes into my head with that death stare of yours if you like, but let me just tell you—"

An explosion of laughter interrupted them. Both Entreri and Nyx turned to glare at Jarlaxle, who was bent over in a fit of laughter. "Now, now, children," Jarlaxle gasped out between laughs, holding out his hands in a calming manner, "there's no need to fight."

"I am no child!" Entreri snapped.

"I'm not a child!" Nyx said in the same instant. The drow just laughed all the harder, though, and the two humans traded withering glances.

"Damn him," was Nyx's only comment, and as though of like mind, the monk and assassin jumped to their feet and vaulted over their packs toward the elf. Jarlaxle, however, had sensed the move and leapt to his feet, running off into the trees. The Entreri and Nyx stopped their pursuit at the edge of the clearing despite the fact Jarlaxle's laughter reached their ears from his hiding spot in forest.

"Is he always that annoying?" Nyx asked.

"Yes," Entreri replied unequivocally.

"No," Jarlaxle said, and although they heard his answer clearly, they still could not see him.

"It sounds like he's hiding to our left, maybe about five to ten feet out," Nyx murmured and stepped out of the clearing and into the thick foliage, seeming resolute about giving the elf a piece of her mind.

"He _was_ to your left," Jarlaxle said, slipping through the trees and around behind her. Nyx pivoted, stepping back into the clearing, and pinned him with a glare.

But Jarlaxle's eyes glittered with mirth. "Let us get back to the matter at hand. We need to set up a counter-ambush."

"Yes, I suppose we do," Entreri agreed, swallowing a long-suffering sigh.

Nyx apparently decided her glare was wasted; she sighed and addressed the drow with an air of practiced patience. "Well, I assume you have a plan."

"Indeed." The drow grinned wickedly.

Readying himself for a long discussion, Entreri turned back toward their food, thinking to finish his lunch as Jarlaxle talked. However, he caught a glimpse of Tai, who watched them all with a faintly irritated expression. Entreri experienced an emotion he couldn't quite identify (and didn't wish to) and headed in the boy's direction. However, when the assassin reached the priest and knelt by him, he didn't speak. He really wasn't sure what to say or ask.

He'd had a similar problem earlier when he'd entered Tai's room and found him looking angry, and as a result, the assassin had searched his mind for the short list of people and experiences he could fall back on. All he'd come up with was the pragmatic and intelligent Dwahvel, one of the few friends he'd ever possessed, and the words he'd written to her: "I will use our time together as a model." It seemed a logical choice, if he were indeed going to follow Jarlaxle's plan to help Tai, so he'd done his best to mimic the perceptive halfling—he'd sat down, listened to Tai, and then offered what thoughts he could. Now, he decided, he would simply raise an eyebrow and see if Tai would respond.

"You all were being loud," Tai explained in a dull voice, apparently understanding the silent cue. He rubbed his temples. "It was just . . . too much noise."

Entreri stared at the boy, struck by the familiarity of the problem. "I see." The pieces of a puzzle long brushed aside, ignored, and ultimately buried were trying to pull themselves together in the assassin's mind, and he didn't like it.

Entreri turned away, forcibly dismissing the issue. Other things demanded his attention, like the attack upon Mordecai. Now _that_ was a task that the assassin could relish. After all, Entreri intended to make sure the drow met his fate.

Horribly.


	8. Chapter 8

"_That is not it, at all.  
That is not what I meant at all." _

**Chapter Eight**

_I don't know why you didn't help me. I don't understand why you ignored my prayer. I know I don't have a right to question you or your purposes, but I think you're enough greater than a mere mortal to withstand my confusion and . . . and anger. I just need—_

With a sigh, Tai broke his communion with Hoar and focused on Entreri's back. They'd been navigating through the High Forest for two days, tracking Mordecai and his group. As careful as the drow were, they didn't have enough experience with forests to not leave a trail. Therefore, while Entreri and Nyx tracked the drow, Tai followed Entreri and Jarlaxle followed Nyx, who was on a parallel course five feet to Tai's left. Unfortunately, the monk had proven correct: the forest was so dense there wasn't an obvious path the drow could have taken, forcing Tai and his companions to follow the drow's exact trail. Despite this possible disadvantage, Jarlaxle had orchestrated a plan that seemed sound to the priest.

But no matter how sound Jarlaxle's plan might be, it didn't help Tai feel any less conflicted about facing Mordecai again. Tai rubbed the bridge of his nose with his fingers and compelled himself to focus on the forest instead of his anxieties. Just like the day before, the sun was shining, so the canopy of leaves glowed in the warm light, and the occasional sunbeam pierced the leaves to spotlight the moss and grass beneath their feet. However, the wind blew in gusts, suggesting an approaching storm, and the branches high above their heads creaked from the force. Much to Tai's relief, the creaking branches and rustling leaves were the only sounds; the forest was basically quiet since his companions maintained silence for stealth. Occasionally, a bird chirped or a twig snapped under the weight of an unseen animal, but these sounds didn't bother Tai. If not for the smell of mint, which reminded Tai of the night he'd been . . . attacked, the boy could have partially relaxed. But the knot in his stomach—a fist squeezing his insides into mush—would not unwind, and Tai had such a severe headache that even the dim light hurt his eyes.

Furthermore, Tai's headache was exasperated by the thoughts bombarding his mind. The object of one such thought was Jarlaxle, and Tai glanced to his side to frown at the elf. Jarlaxle's words about Mordecai from the day before haunted the boy: "It is not so difficult to anticipate his moves." It wasn't? Then why hadn't Jarlaxle stayed with him during their surveillance? Or had he suspected the outcome and simply not cared? After all, Tai had also overheard Jarlaxle say, "You assume I do not use them merely for my own profit or amusement." Had Tai been a fool to not prejudge Jarlaxle based on what little he knew of the drow? Was he simply Jarlaxle's pawn . . . as well as Hoar's?

Tai shook his head violently, trying to clear the blasphemous thought from his mind. Still, the fear and confusion remained, exhausting Tai and limiting his communions with Hoar to two or three minutes—a bad situation considering the approaching battle. And as for Jarlaxle . . .

Swallowing a sigh, Tai reached up to massage his neck and shoulders, which were holding most of his tension, and found knots there that made him imagine small lemons were bunched up under his skin. "Will we be stopping soon?" he whispered to Entreri's back.

The assassin glanced over his shoulder and gave the boy an irritated look, but the expression quickly vanished. Entreri nodded and stopped. Jarlaxle immediately halted, proving that he'd been keeping the two humans in his periphery, and Nyx stopped as well. Entreri used some kind of sign language Tai didn't follow to explain his decision to Jarlaxle, who nodded and motioned for Nyx to follow him as he walked closer.

"Are you tired?" Jarlaxle whispered when he'd reached Tai.

Tai looked up into Jarlaxle's dark eyes and found himself wondering if the elf's concern was an act. "Yes."

Jarlaxle watched him for a moment before responding. "We'll stop and rest a few minutes, although we cannot afford to rest long."

"I know." Annoyed, Tai turned away and searched for a place to sit. He chose an exposed tree root and soon had an assassin sitting beside him. Entreri pulled out his canteen and took a sip. Without glancing Tai's way, he held out the canteen to the boy, and Tai took it with a mumbled "thank you" and drank as well.

Since Jarlaxle and Nyx remained standing and on-guard, Tai found himself with only Entreri to whisper with. Tai's brow furrowed as he considered the man; Jarlaxle's words weren't the only ones haunting the boy. Entreri's comment of several nights earlier kept returning to him: "Do not behave so. You are not some spineless victim."

The young priest bit his lip. Had Tai's father said such a thing to him, he would've assumed it meant "Be strong! Be a man!" But the latter part of Entreri's words cycled in his thoughts: "You are a man who has had the strength to survive another's sickness. You should take pride in that." Strength? Pride? Maybe . . . just maybe . . . the assassin had been trying to help him.

. . . Then again, what pride could Tai really have? As someone who was almost seventeen years old and was a trained cleric, shouldn't he have been able to stop the assault? If he'd immediately called upon what few prayers remained to him that day, or if he'd yelled out . . . or maybe if he'd instantly tried to run, couldn't he have . . .?

Tai slumped, feeling his entire soul burn with shame.

Entreri watched the boy. "Stop thinking so damn much."

Tai jerked his posture upright and stared at the man. "Stop . . . thinking?"

"Stop b—" Entreri's jaw clenched, and he didn't continue. "Yes. Stop thinking." He reached out and took his canteen from Tai. "Let us resume our tracking. We have drow to kill."

Tai stood and gazed after the man, wondering what Entreri had started to say.

* * *

Several miles away, Mordecai leaned against the rough bark of a tree and grinned as his scout weaved between the trees, making his way toward the scout leader. Today truly was a good day; even Cat seemed to sense it, for she was happily stalking some small green creature near Mordecai's feet. In flash of white fur, she jumped upon it, breaking its neck with her powerful jaws, and Mordecai admired her technique. 

When the scout reached Mordecai, he bowed.

"Report."

The scout straightened. "Jarlaxle and his companions are nearing our position, sir."

"They are?" Mordecai asked languidly, wanting to savor each moment of Jarlaxle's impending doom.

The scout nodded. "Yes, sir. I predict they'll catch up to us in approximately four hours."

Mordecai chuckled. A good day, indeed. It was perfect. "Dismissed." Mordecai waved away the scout, who bowed again and left. The scout leader gazed upward into the leaves and branches which the wind violently tossed, and he smiled at the thrashing green mass.

It was time. Mordecai would finish his task of assassinating Jarlaxle and eliminating his pet—or, rather, pets—and then he would retrieve the _Kagaor ki Tamal_. And once he had that . . .

Mordecai laughed to himself as visions of chaos and destruction filled his head.

* * *

Jarlaxle watched as Entreri took his canteen back from Tai and stood. 

"Let us resume our tracking. We have drow to kill," the assassin said, moving off to consult with Nyx—or, more likely, to argue with her.

Jarlaxle reached up and rubbed his chin with his fingers. Entreri was proving an awkward mentor to Tai, but the elf hadn't expected anything more. Although Entreri had the personal experience necessary to relate to Tai, he had never cared for or helped anyone . . . and he certainly wouldn't admit to the boy that he could empathize. Still, Jarlaxle felt that with a bit of prodding and further advice, the assassin could be somewhat beneficial to Tai—and, therefore, to himself, too. And a less angry Entreri would make a safer companion for a drow without a home . . .

A drow without a home . . .

Jarlaxle wondered if he were mad for considering the possibility of breaking his ties to Menzoberranzan. He'd always been as tied to . . . as trapped by . . . Menzoberranzan as Zaknafein had been. Could he really do as Drizzt had done and break free?

Had Drizzt truly broken free?

Jarlaxle noted that Tai had stood and was gazing after Entreri, and although the boy's shoulder-length black hair hung in his face, it didn't hide his troubled expression. Apparently sensing Jarlaxle's gaze, the priest glanced at the drow and frowned. Jarlaxle perceived a growing problem; this made the second time today the boy at looked at him with such suspicion. Was the priest blaming him for what had happened, just as Nyx apparently was? Had Nyx influenced the boy?

Jarlaxle stopped, realizing he was making an assumption. Perhaps Tai had not yet told Nyx he'd left the boy and moved off on his own. And when Nyx found out . . .

Indeed, Jarlaxle had a growing problem on his hands. Still, he had never meant for Tai to get hurt, and he wasn't to blame for the fact that—

_"Regardless of how successful or unsuccessful your plans or choices are, you must always face the consequences of your actions,"_ a voice from long ago echoed in his mind—the voice of a drow Jarlaxle hadn't thought of in many years. _"Usually this means arranging for someone else to take the fall for you, but every once and a while, you have to . . ."_

". . . take the fall yourself and deal with the outcome," Jarlaxle whispered to himself. He sighed and took his position behind Nyx as the four started tracking their prey again. Such wisdom that drow had possessed, and like Zaknafein, he, too, had paid the price for his differing views. Just like Drizzt had paid for his, although not yet with his life—though that sacrifice might still come.

"Mercy can save your soul, or damn your body," Jarlaxle had once said to Drizzt, and the same was true for going too far against the grain of drow society.

So which one was Jarlaxle the most concerned with? His soul or his body? His empire or his "freedom" on the surface? His responsibility to these people or his carefree ability to only consider his own fate?

They weren't questions easily answered, and Jarlaxle found no reason to answer them today. For now, he needed to concentrate on defeating Mordecai.

* * *

Mordecai used drow hand code to direct his soldiers into their positions and found himself feeling pleased with how things were working out. Black clouds had rushed across the sky, overtaking the sunset and rendering the forest dark and tense in the face of the coming storm. The thick shadows gave the drow an advantage in fighting three of their four enemies, while the wind howling through the trees easily covered the occasional misstep and broken twig as the drow concealed themselves behind trees and bushes. Jarlaxle and his pets would be dead before they entirely understood the trap they'd walked into. 

Mordecai had used a divine enchantment to command Cat to stay in place and out of harm's way. So with his soldiers in position and the ambush set, the scout leader felt certain everything was perfect. All that remained was for the victims to arrive and for Mordecai to unleash upon them several lovely unholy prayers. He had a few beautifully nasty surprises planned for them . . .

Mordecai tried not to get excited, but the thought of the upcoming pain, terror, and death made his entire body tingle with anticipation. He would never tire of battle and death, he decided, even if he could live to be 2,000 years old.

* * *

Jarlaxle slipped through the low branches and back into to the group's hiding spot in a particularly dense copse of trees. "Just as I suspected," he whispered, kneeling in front of the crouched humans, "they've set up an ambush. They're spread around the next small clearing in typical formation." 

Entreri nodded, and for once an undercurrent of energy brightened the man's expression, unlike Nyx and Tai, who appeared grim. A flash of lightening pierced the canopy overhead, throwing the humans' faces and expressions into further contrast, and Jarlaxle momentarily wondered if the two followers of Hoar were up to this task.

But of course they were. This was about vengeance and justice.

"It's important that everyone stick to our plan," Jarlaxle continued, still keeping his voice low, although some words were lost in the rumbling thunder. The approaching storm would soon be upon them. "Artemis, if you and Tai will take out the three on our right; Nyx, you will have to take out the two to our left. And I'll handle Mordecai."

Entreri glared at Jarlaxle. "I will agree to that only if you do not kill him before I can join you. I have a right to the killing blow."

"Only if I don't reach him first," Nyx whispered harshly.

Tai simply stared at the ground, and Jarlaxle could tell that the boy felt torn inside. Likely, his emotions about facing Mordecai were quite mixed.

"I shall do my best to save a piece of Mordecai for you both," Jarlaxle said lightly, "but it is important that Tai does not get separated from you, Artemis."

Tai shot Jarlaxle a pointed glare, then quickly looked down again.

"Which is why I should remain with Tai instead," Nyx whispered, looking at Entreri with suspicion, but her words were swallowed by a sharp report of thunder.

The assassin had apparently read her lips, however, for he narrowed his eyes. "I am perfectly able to keep an eye on Tai and fight at the same time."

Jarlaxle quickly suppressed a smile and marked the day as historic. Still, he had trouble keeping a straight face given that Entreri didn't seem immediately aware of the irony of his words. "Enough discussion," Jarlaxle whispered. "Let us proceed."

Entreri nodded to Tai and stood, and the boy stood as well, following him as he melted into the gloom. Nyx headed in the opposite direction, circling around behind where Jarlaxle had indicated her targets were. Jarlaxle engaged the enchantments upon several pieces of his jewelry and headed straight toward the clearing, pretending to be the group's scout who was naively falling into the trap—and he counted on Mordecai's arrogance to be great enough for him to not immediately question the ruse. However, even if Mordecai did see through the trick, Jarlaxle had all his defenses in place.

After all, Jarlaxle hadn't survived centuries in Menzoberranzan without being able to handle those who coveted his position.

* * *

Tai followed Entreri as quietly as he could, although the howling wind helped mask his footsteps. The assassin's ability to move so silently across the littered forest floor amazed the boy; Tai felt like the drow could probably hear his mere breathing from yards away. No matter. The more pressing concern of the moment was whether he should try to commune with Hoar one last time. 

Why not? It couldn't hurt. The "hurt" he'd already experienced. If it didn't help, that wouldn't be unprecedented, either.

_I'm unsure if you can hear me . . . or if I am still in your favor . . . especially since I've skipped several of my normal mediations with you, but . . ._ Tai took a deep breath. _Please grant me your divine favor so I may defeat my enemies. At this point, I shall have to rely on inspiration from you . . . but . . . _The priest exhaled heavily, though silently. _Just help, please._

The lessons Tai had received from his uncle returned to him, then: _Do you have faith, child? Even the tiniest spark of faith can produce miracles. But this is not to say you should become tyrannized by the question of faith. If you have doubts, tell Hoar you wish to believe, and then ask him to help you with those doubts._

His uncle had always been wise. _I want to believe; help me erase my doubts,_ Tai prayed.

Entreri had stopped and held up his hand, indicating that Tai halt. The boy dropped into a crouch and waited as Entreri moved from tree to tree, hiding himself behind the trunks and checking the area. The assassin returned and knelt by Tai. He leaned close to the priest's ear, keeping his voice so soft Tai had to concentrate to understand him.

"Are you ready?"

A single raindrop fell upon the boy's hand, and he stared at it as he nodded.

"Two directly in front of us. Third ten feet beyond." Entreri paused, and Tai could hear the frown in his voice. "We'll take the two together but must silence the third quickly."

Several more raindrops worked their way through the leaves as the storm picked up force, and the air filled with the sound of the rain striking millions of leaves. "I'll do my best to silence the third," Tai whispered. "But it'll delay my entry into the fight with the first two."

Entreri nodded and gestured for Tai to follow him. The priest steeled himself as they stood and worked their way toward the first two drow. A sudden crash of thunder nearly caused the boy to jump, but he held in his surprise and drew one of his stiletto daggers.

Once the assassin reached a particularly large tree trunk, he grew still, and Tai could actually sense his muscles tensing. The man then sprang around the tree, drawing his weapons effortlessly and attacking the drow beyond. For all the realms, Tai was reminded of a panther—dark, sleek, and deadly.

The priest quickly scanned the trees for the third drow, who had in fact exited his hiding spot and was heading for the fight. Tai stared down at the divine emblem stitched into his now battered cloak and concentrated, praying the words and drawing in the air the symbol of a divine spell so familiar that casting it made his heart ache.

The boy glanced back up, breathless with fear that the prayer would not be heard or answered.

The third drow froze in place, rendered motionless and mute.

Tai stared at the immobile soldier for several seconds as reality sank in. _Hoar answered my prayer!_

Several emotions hit Tai at once—confusion, relief, joy, and anger—but now that the boy realized he was empowered to do so, he found he very much wanted to rid the world of drow. The adrenaline and righteous fury that surged through his body made the boy feel his pulse in the hand clutching the dagger.

Retribution must be had. These drow had to die.

* * *

From her position in a tree above her first target, Nyx pulled out her shuriken and eyed the intended victim's spine. The two drow she had to kill were positioned about ten feet apart from each other, and while they weren't in visual range with each other, Nyx knew they were easily within hearing range. _I only have one chance to take him out quickly and cleanly,_ she thought, and she held no doubt that she could do so. However, if the solider turned at just the wrong moment—or worse, sensed her presence—she would quickly find herself facing two drow at once. Not promising, although she'd successfully done so before. 

With several quick snaps of her wrist, Nyx aimed shuriken at six separate points in the drow's vertebrae. Four shuriken were deflected by the drow's armor, but the other two drove home, effectively paralyzing the solider. He fell to the ground face-first without much more than a gasp.

Nyx grinned to herself and used the cover of the thunder to vault out of the tree. Rain pelted her head, shoulders, and arms as she crept toward her second victim. She had to wonder, then, why people were so afraid of drow. She'd killed three now with very little (or, in this case, no) difficulty.

The monk drew her matching gurkha kukri from the sheaths on her thighs as she approached the other soldier's position. However, when she peeked around the final tree trunk in preparation for the kill, she found he was no longer there.

_Where could he have gone, and so quickly?_ she thought, tensing as her senses grew hypersensitive. Immediately, she remembered the way Jarlaxle had slipped around behind her the day before, and she began to turn, her blades raised.

"Too late," a voice whispered in her ear as a cold blade touched her bare throat.

* * *

Jarlaxle gave up all pretensions as Mordecai stepped into the small clearing before him. The scout leader grinned wickedly at his former employer and ran a hand through his wet stock of white hair, which was now plastered against his skull. A flash of lightening further illuminated the younger drow's sharp features for a moment, and Jarlaxle could clearly see the confidence in the cleric's expression. 

"Ah, dear, old, senile Jarlaxle. I am surprised at the extent of your sloppiness." Mordecai smirked.

Jarlaxle extended his senses past the dark clearing, and although he could neither see nor hear any fighting, he felt assured that Entreri, Tai, and Nyx were busy picking off their targets. _Again, you assume much about my plans and intentions,_ Jarlaxle thought. "I would think you would not be so certain of yourself after losing so many of your soldiers before," he taunted.

Mordecai glared at the mercenary leader then, and Jarlaxle knew he'd hit a sore spot. "You assume much," the younger drow said, raising his voice to be heard over the driving rain.

"Actually, that is my line," Jarlaxle replied with a smile.

Mordecai narrowed his eyes and began tracing a symbol in the air as he prayed. Jarlaxle immediately moved to drop the clearing into silence, but at that moment two things happened: the mercenary leader felt a dreadfully familiar sensation, and no silence descended. In fact, a terrific clap of thunder rent the air, underscoring the decided lack of magical silence.

Jarlaxle grinned at the cleric. "You tried to dispel the magic of my charms. I assure you, you failed."

In the growing darkness, Mordecai's red eyes glowed as he sneered. "Just as you failed to cast this area into magical silence. I assure you, I've taken care of that trick of yours."

The thunderstorm intensified then, driving sheets of rain through the canopy above and drenching the drow and their area of combat. "It would seem our initial strategies were both ineffective," Jarlaxle said, flexing the fingers of his dagger-throwing hand and calculating the slippery grass into his attack strategy.

"I am sure we'll compensate," Mordecai replied, drawing his remaining falchion and a dagger and effectively ending the pretense of conversation.

Mordecai charged Jarlaxle, who drew one of his concealed daggers even as he hailed daggers from his bracer upon the cleric. The daggers simply bounced off of Mordecai, however, and Jarlaxle had to dive to the side to avoid the cleric's initial strike. As he rolled to his feet, Jarlaxle drew one of his favorite wands—the one which spewed a sticky web—and let loose a barrage at Mordecai. The cleric tore through the web as though it were a garden spider's.

"I told you, I know and have prepared for your tricks," the scout leader said, charging Jarlaxle again.

Jarlaxle didn't even acknowledge the younger drow's words. He drew his second dagger, snapped his wrists, and spoke the spell that elongated them into swords. He parried Mordecai's thrusts with ease, but he found himself disquieted by the strength the cleric was displaying. Jarlaxle had never fought anyone who struck with such force! Mordecai had magically enhanced his strength, the mercenary leader was sure of it. Still, Jarlaxle blocked the downward swing of Mordecai's falchion, forcing the younger drow off-balance as he tried to follow through with his dagger, and then kicking him in the side of the knee for good measure.

Mordecai jumped away with a breathless laugh and circled wide. "Not bad for an old elf." He drew a pattern in the air with his dagger and whispered a prayer. "Now, let's see how you do with a little more of a challenge."

Jarlaxle was already on top of him by then, and Mordecai had not a moment to spare as he tried to fend off Jarlaxle's strikes, which danced all around him and nicked him. The mercenary leader led the cleric through a particularly confusing—and ornate—series of circles, popping his blades in the air and keeping Mordecai's concentration on fending off his feigned stabs. Mordecai kept up well, but Jarlaxle could tell he would be unable to do so forever.

It was at that moment, however, that Jarlaxle sensed he was surrounded. The mercenary leader forced Mordecai into a defense routine that directed him in a circle, affording Jarlaxle the ability to take stock of his surroundings. The mercenary leader understood, then, what Mordecai had prayed for.

A dozen large tree limbs, fallen tree trunks, and even uprooted saplings had surrounded the drow in the attitude of living creatures and appeared ready to attack.

Mordecai had animated the forest itself and was going to use it as a small army against Jarlaxle.

* * *

Entreri withdrew his sword from the second drow's chest as the skin peeled back from his skull and his mouth fell open, revealing yellowed teeth. So much for the first two soldiers. Entreri had experienced little trouble with them, which was fortunate since Tai hadn't joined the battle quickly enough to do much more than momentarily distract the second drow. The priest's lateness didn't seem to be for a lack of commitment, however. The assassin watched in shock as Tai descended upon the third drow, who had apparently been immobilized by a spell, and began slashing at him with his twin daggers. 

At first, Entreri experienced a moment's surprise that Hoar had apparently granted Tai divine favor, although the sensation was fleeting. The realization was overwhelmed by the violence with which the boy was attacking the drow. For only the second time in his entire adult life, Entreri found himself rendered motionless as he watched the spectacle before him. In a matter of seconds, the normally calm priest had savagely opened a dozen wounds on the solider. Blood and rain poured down the drow's body as he obviously struggled against the remnants of Tai's spell, but Tai did not slow his attacks. The storm had completely drenched the boy, plastering his hair to his head, and the thunder obscured his words as he shouted breathlessly at the drow. For a moment, every detail of the scene seemed to press itself on Entreri: the rain pouring like tears down Tai's face; the strands of black hair sticking to the boy's cheeks; the sound of Tai's yells combined with claps of thunder; the blur of the priest's daggers as he slashed them in a crisscross pattern across the drow's chest; and the drow's red eyes burning with anger, pain, and fear.

The contradictory impulses Entreri experienced in that moment were so profound that his confusion was instantaneous and complete. But an impulse—a compunction he didn't understand—forced the man into immediate action. He charged forward, knocked the boy out of the way, and decapitated the drow with one swipe from Charon's Claw.

Tai hit the ground and stared up at Entreri with a look of anger so piercing that the assassin nearly raised his weapons. "Why?" the priest yelled, his normally dark brown eyes appearing black in the growing darkness. For a strange moment, the assassin felt like someone else was glaring up at him, not Tai.

Entreri paused and sheathed his weapons, confident that if Tai did assault him that he could defeat him while unarmed. The assassin reached down and pulled the boy to his feet. "Always attack with precision and efficiency," he said simply, "and never give in to rage as you fight. It makes your technique sloppy."

The dark, dark eyes which had locked so powerfully with Entreri's gaze widened after a moment. "You mean . . . I was still somehow leaving myself open for attack?"

The assassin stared into those overly-large brown eyes, which seemed familiar again—the eyes of the boy he knew—and wondered faintly at the second clash of emotions that threatened him. Entreri impatiently shoved the confusion away. "Yes. Anyone could have attacked you from the sides or back during your wild assault, and you would have never sensed him." He gestured with his head toward their left, where Jarlaxle and Nyx were no doubt fighting. "Stay focused. This battle has only begun."

* * *

Nyx knew she was dead. The cold rain racing down her bare arms could not match the chill of that certainty. She understood enough about drow to know they had little or no use for human prisoners, and the drow soldier had his sword blade against the right side of her throat. That being acknowledged, she decided to go down fighting. In one fluid movement, she jerked her neck away from the blade, brought her arm up to simultaneously push the blade upward, and stomped backward with her booted heel, hoping to injure the drow's foot. 

A searing pain shot across her throat and a lesser pain bloomed in her right arm, but she managed to knock the blade away. The drow's exclamation told her she'd also managed to hurt his foot at least slightly. Nyx ignored her injuries and whirled around, slashing at the drow's chest. The soldier instantly recovered and brought his sword to bear, but Nyx blocked it with her left-hand blade. She clenched her right fist around her other khukri and aimed a punch at the drow's solar plexus; as her fist connected, she directed a pulse of _ki_ through her arm and hand and into his chest. With a gasp of pain, the soldier was knocked backward off his feet.

Nyx didn't pause, even for a moment, and she assumed that since she was still standing, the wound to her throat hadn't been critical. Having heard her grandfather's war stories as a child, however, she knew she was making a big assumption.

Desperate soldiers could do some amazing things while seriously wounded.

* * *

Entreri reached the small clearing where Jarlaxle and Mordecai fought in time to witness one of the oddest scenes he'd ever seen. Not only was Jarlaxle trying his best to fend off the cleric's strikes, he was fighting . . . living, moving tree limbs, trunks, and saplings, all of which stabbed at him with whatever "appendages" they possessed. 

"What in the nine hells?" the assassin whispered under his breath, but a flash of lightening lit the clearing for an instant, giving him the chance to verify his initial impression.

Tai was suddenly at his elbow. "Mordecai has animated them. Jarlaxle is effectively outnumbered."

"Doubtful," Entreri replied, having seen Jarlaxle's swordwork on more than one occasion now, but he wasn't about to test his supposition. The assassin charged in, his goal to simultaneously give Jarlaxle support and to get himself into the position to slice Mordecai into tiny pieces.

Charon's Claw made quick work of two animated tree limbs, then Entreri was at Jarlaxle's side. "Tree limbs?" the assassin asked.

A thoroughly drenched Jarlaxle laughed as he slashed through an attacking sapling. "Welcome to the festivities."

Entreri snorted. "Only a half-mad drow would enjoy fighting an animated forest."

Mordecai had turned his attention to the assassin and now rained a dozen quick slashes and stabs upon the man, who easily parried them. "It is pleasing to have my intended victim before me again," the drow taunted.

The assassin narrowed his eyes dangerously. "Save your threats. I shall shortly remove the very flesh from your skull."

Mordecai chuckled and brought his falchion down at an angle; Entreri intercepted his blade with a matching block which he followed with a quick push that threw Mordecai's sword wide. The drow apparently anticipated the move, however, for he drove his dagger in high, hoping to slip through the assassin's defenses. Entreri parried the strike with his own dagger, simultaneously reversing his sword to slash across Mordecai's chest. The drow quickly reversed his own blade, blocking a strike that would have sliced through his ribs.

Then, for an odd moment, Mordecai grew unnaturally still. Entreri didn't waste his chance; he plunged his dagger into the drow's side. The cleric shook himself violently, and to his credit, he apparently remained calm despite the draining of his lifeforce. With a quick double-slash, he forced Entreri to disengage. In that moment, the assassin could see Tai several feet behind the drow, and he concluded that Tai had been responsible for the scout leader's temporary immobility.

Jarlaxle had destroyed all the remaining animated tree limbs and now turned back toward Mordecai. The grin he gave the cleric then should have been enough to freeze his soul. Behind Mordecai, Tai was drawing his daggers, and to his side, a wet and bloody Nyx stepped through the trees, shuriken in one hand and the other hand pressed against her neck.

"You are outnumbered, outclassed, and outsmarted," Jarlaxle said.

Entreri dispensed with words and raised his weapons even as a shuriken buried itself in Mordecai's shoulder. The drow jumped backward, quickly sheathing his dagger and grabbing something else . . .

"No!" The assassin burst forward in a devastating horizontal strike, but his blade cut nothing more than orange smoke as Mordecai was teleported away. "Damn!" The assassin turned toward Jarlaxle with a glare. "What is this with drow, wizards, clerics, and teleportation! I spend all my time either staring at clouds of smoke or getting my insides rearranged!"

Jarlaxle looked notably sour and inclined to agree. "Take Tai and search to your right. I'll take Nyx and search to the left. He can't have gotten too far."

Entreri motioned to a frowning Tai and headed off, but he suspected they would not find Mordecai. Ultimately, though, the assassin felt the drow's escape would be nothing more than a minor irritation. They would find the drow, and he would kill him. Entreri was a very patient and methodical man.

For even if it took many years and traveling thousands of miles, once he had a target, Entreri never quit until it was dead.

Never.

* * *

A/N: I'm very sorry for taking so long to post this; thank you all so much for your patience. You've got one more chapter headed your way…then I'll be working on the next story. :) Thank you to everyone who read and/or reviewed chapter 7. 

**Attention please!** I have some absolutely fantastic artwork and music to tell you about (or remind you of) that several fellow LE members have done for my stories:

Rufio's watercolor of Artemis and Mordecai from "Specters" chapter 4: http/ or search LE's images for Rufio's folder (the latter option is better if you want to leave a review).

Rezuri's picture of Artemis and Jarlaxle from "Progression" chapter 9: http/ and picture of Tai and Artemis from chapter 6 of "Specters": http/  
Check them out at before you search LE's images for Rezuri's folder (although if you want to review, you'll have to access it here at LE). Rezuri tells me she slightly altered the pics after she posted them at LE, and the newer versions are at music for my stories: email her at all three of you so much! I am so wowed!

Silverwolf: Nope, I haven't revealed Tai's home nation yet, but you're right--it's not Chessentra. I hope to get into Tai's past and origins a bit more in the second story (or third at the latest), but here's a hint: Hoar's priesthood are mostly wanderers (one of Hoar's domains is travel). Er...that wasn't much of a hint, I guess. ;)


	9. Chapter 9

"_We have lingered in the chambers of the sea  
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown  
Till human voices wake us, and we drown."_

**Epilogue **

Midnight arrived in the High Forest, bringing with it a partial clearing of the rain clouds. The moonlight filtered through the dense branches to dapple the muddy forest floor with ghostly illumination. In the stillness after the storm, crickets sang their chorus of chirps, and the fresh smell of rain permeated the air. Other than the occasional wind gust, the forest remained undisturbed, as though nothing important had occurred within its confines.

Jarlaxle, Nyx, Entreri, and Tai had returned—cold, wet, and empty-handed—to the clearing where they'd fought Mordecai. Although they'd systematically searched the surrounding forest for hours, Mordecai had escaped; in fact, there'd been no sign of him whatsoever. Entreri wasn't surprised at this development, nor was he daunted. The drow was living on borrowed time as far as he was concerned.

Nyx and Tai, however, looked grim. More than that, the pair appeared haggard. Nyx's braided crown had partially unwound, leaving wisps of dark auburn hanging hair in her face. Dried blood covered her neck and right shoulder, and she was pale. Entreri suspected that in addition to being physically drained, she was irritated—in her weakness, she'd slowed her and Jarlaxle's progress.

Tai didn't look any better. Although he didn't seem as tired as Nyx, he looked twice as dour, perhaps even slightly angry. Entreri understood. Tai had wanted to see Mordecai die, but vengeance had not been executed.

Yet.

"Do not be so glum!" Jarlaxle exclaimed, gesturing for Nyx to sit on a downed tree trunk. "It's but a momentary inconvenience. Artemis and I are bounty hunters, after all. We specialize in tracking down evil criminals and bringing them to justice!"

Nyx snorted, but she sat where Jarlaxle indicated. "Well, that is basically why Tai and I hired you. And it better damn well be true. I won't rest until that bastard is dead."

"Never fear, my noble monk." Jarlaxle pulled his healing orb out of his belt pack. "Mordecai will not escape us!"

Entreri smirked at the elf's theatrics and sat by Tai on one of the other downed tree trunks . . . or rather what was left of it after Entreri had diced it in half during the earlier battle. The assassin had fought many things in his life, but never an animated forest. He found Mordecai's tactic cowardly. Then again, at this point Entreri couldn't conceive of Mordecai doing anything that wasn't cowardly.

Beside the assassin, Tai had slumped and was looking more depressed by the second. Entreri frowned at the boy. Jarlaxle had an overdramatic way of saying it, but the core of what he had said to Nyx was true. "Jarlaxle is right," Entreri said, aiming the comment at the priest. "We shall track down and kill Mordecai. Of that you may be certain."

Tai nodded, but any reply he may have given was stopped by Nyx's startled exclamation.

"What are you doing?" The monk eyed Jarlaxle with suspicion as he stepped up to her with the orb. She leaned backward as Jarlaxle approached.

"Healing you, my friend. That neck wound is horrid, and I can tell you have lost much blood."

Nyx held up her hand as though to stop the elf. "Yes, I know _what_ the orb does. I'm simply unsure I want your magic used upon me."

"Relax," Entreri said snidely. "Tai did not suffer any unfortunate side effects when Jarlaxle employed the orb to heal him, did he?"

Nyx frowned, giving Entreri a glare, but after a moment she lowered her hand. Jarlaxle began chanting, enacting the orb's spell. The small orb glowed a faint magenta, and the cut on Nyx's neck began pulling together, the skin seeming to knit itself. At the same time, a pink flush bloomed across Nyx's face, easing her pallor. A few minutes later, the monk looked considerably better, the wound having faded from her neck.

Tai watched the proceedings without comment, and Entreri wondered what the boy was thinking. After all, as a cleric, Tai was equally capable of healing his friend.

And that thought, Entreri realized, contained the evening's revelation. Tai had apparently communed with Hoar at some point over the last few days, and Hoar had equally apparently not abandoned his priest. For Tai, however, the divine favor must have eased some of his anger or fear. Yet the boy still seemed confused and troubled.

To Entreri, Tai's mood made perfect sense. Tai would be a fool, in the assassin's mind, to brush off his anger too quickly—if such a thing were even possible. Yes, Tai had crossed the line between the pretty, fake world and the nasty, real world . . .

The assassin shook his head. Was he actually worried about Tai? No, surely not. But would it be a sign of weakness if he were?

Yes, his mind immediately answered. But in the moments that followed, the assassin found he wasn't as sure of that as he'd once been.

Entreri had never considered himself a coward. He'd never seen himself as the type to harbor any fears. But if that were true, he reasoned, then he shouldn't be afraid of change. Of pushing the moment. Of setting out on whatever path he deemed best.

Of having friends?

Entreri looked at Jarlaxle and considered the events of the past months. Then he looked at Tai and promptly pushed the issue from his mind.

Since Jarlaxle had finished with Nyx, he approached Entreri and Tai. "Are you injured?" he asked the boy. When Tai shook his head, the elf looked to Entreri. "And you?"

"No," Entreri replied, mentally dismissing the few nicks he'd received.

"Good, good." The elf grinned as he stowed away his orb. "How did you like the ring?"

"The ring?" Entreri stared at Jarlaxle blankly for several moments before realizing that the elf spoke of the ring he'd given him approximately a tenday earlier. The assassin glanced down at his left hand and considered the silver band. "I had forgotten it. Really, Jarlaxle, you should tell me what these magical items are for when you give them to me."

The elf chuckled and squeezed Entreri's shoulder. "But that would ruin the surprise!"

Entreri stared at Jarlaxle. "What surprise? At this rate, I shall never use it!"

"Oh, just experiment with it," Jarlaxle commented airily, throwing one hand up in a carefree gesture.

At Jarlaxle's exclamation, Tai had closed his eyes and begun rubbing his temples, and Entreri suspected that the flamboyant drow was getting on his nerves. "Yes, yes," the assassin said tersely, gesturing for Jarlaxle to leave. The drow grinned and headed back over to Nyx, apparently to double-check her condition, but he turned back when he reached her.

_Well done, my intuitive friend,_ Jarlaxle signed in drow hand code to Entreri. _If you remain this diligent, it looks like we shall maintain a functional cleric._

Entreri narrowed his eyes in reaction to Jarlaxle's obvious rhetorical move. However, the elf wasn't really trying to hide his intentions, and Entreri was plenty intelligent enough to read the subtext. Of course, the assassin didn't allow himself to consider how much of the rhetorical move was just that—rhetoric—or why a tactic, and the charade it created, were necessary. In fact, Entreri conveniently ignored that a charade existed to any extent—great or small. Still… _Don't make me hurt you,_ he signed in reply, and Jarlaxle grinned.

* * *

From her spot on the tree trunk, Nyx watched the odd exchange and the way Entreri turned back to Tai. What had they been saying to each other? she wondered. For all the realms, it looked like they were discussing Tai's obvious pain—and, what was more, it even looked as if Entreri had shooed away Jarlaxle for Tai's benefit! She continued to watch the assassin with interest. 

"Here," Entreri said gruffly, shoving his canteen at the boy.

Tai opened his eyes and accepted it. "Thank you."

It was a simple act, Nyx noted. An act so simple that in any other situation, she would have failed to notice it.

But this was Artemis Entreri. The monk knew just enough about the man and his reputation to suspect that the simplest, basic act of consideration was notable coming from him. And over the past three days since Tai had been raped, Entreri had been considerate toward him more than once.

Nyx turned her gaze upon the drow who had healed her. Despite guidance from Hoar and Tai's assurances, Nyx had just as much trouble trusting Jarlaxle as she did Entreri. However, the elf had been mindful of Tai's mindset, health, and safety over the past few days. Nyx was far from ready to declare undying trust in the two, but unless Hoar warned her otherwise, she supposed that she wouldn't grab Tai and leave their company.

Of course, she also needed their help to kill Mordecai and keep him from obtaining the _Kagaor ki Tamal,_ especially if the mirror would make the drow as powerful as rumors indicated. Furthermore, Nyx would do almost anything to avenge Evendur's death and Tai's rape except endanger Tai.

Yes, Entreri would have to wait his turn when it came to Mordecai. Because when she got her hands on that bastard . . .

* * *

The whip cracked down upon Mordecai's shoulder, flaying the skin open even as the four snake heads bit into his neck and back. The drow tried to swallow his shout, but a pained grunt escaped his clenched teeth. Chalithra, the eldest daughter of House Tuin'Tarl, was only warming up, however. 

"Useless male!" she screamed, striking him again.

Mordecai had been kneeling before her as commanded, but the force of her blow nearly knocked him onto the forest floor. He found it particularly fortunate that he'd teleported so far away from his enemies before she found him; not only did he not wish his foes to stumble across this scene of humiliation, he didn't want Chalithra's yelling to announce their location.

"How dare you disgrace us with such failure!" she continued, snapping her snake whip upon his back and laying open the flesh.

Even in his haze of pain, Mordecai thought to say, "Us? But the other houses believe my connection to House Tuin'Tarl was severed." However, speaking up for himself would only enrage the female more, and his left arm, neck, and back were already growing numb from the snake venom.

"We dared to take you in, common filth, and make you our weapon's master!" Chalithra screamed, whipping him again. "We entrusted you with a mission!" The whip cracked against his shoulder and arm. "And not only have you yet to find the _Kagaor ki Tamal,_ you have not even secured control of Bregan D'aerthe. You are truly the most worthless of males!" Again, she snapped the whip against his flesh with all her strength.

Mordecai was on the verge of fainting. Apparently realizing this, Chalithra stopped her beating and knelt before him to hiss into his face. "Accomplish your mission at once, or find yourself with more than two legs."

A surge of genuine fear choked Mordecai at the thought of being turned into a drider. His complete shame and powerlessness scorched his soul; he promised himself that the female would die for this. After all, it wouldn't be difficult for _him_ to punish _her_ once he'd achieved his goal.

Chalithra stood and left him as he toppled onto the wet grass. Mordecai waited several minutes for her to get sufficiently far away then prayed to his deity for healing. A soothing warmth filled his body almost instantly, and the drow felt grateful that his deity wasn't as angry with him as his Matron Mother apparently was.

Moments passed, and a warm rough tongue licked Mordecai's fingers. The drow glanced over at his hand to find that Cat had left her hiding spot and was now cleaning his fingers. Mordecai wanted to snicker, but it would have hurt too much. Who would have thought that the beast's fastidiousness would have extended to her master?

Mordecai didn't want to admit he was happy to see her, but he was. Cat had bolted when Chalithra had arrived, and the cleric had wondered if she'd return.

And so it was that Cat was the only witness to Mordecai's most recent humiliation at the hands of Lolth's servants. Cat would be present for his victory as well, Mordecai decided, for with every beating he became all the more resolute of his path.

They would all die. Every single worshipper and priestess of Lolth. Mordecai would return from the dead to ensure it if necessary.

And he would send to the abyss anyone who stood in his way.

* * *

_A/N: As you can tell from the way I left . . . well, everything . . . up in the air, I'm just getting started. This story is meant to be the first installment of three fanfictions. So please don't kill me because Mordecai is alive and well! _

Thank you to my beta readers, my fiancé and Darkhelmet, who proved even more priceless than usual in their commitment to giving me feedback on this story, especially chapter 5. You two have my deepest thanks for your time, suggestions, and help. hugs beta readers

I also need to thank many others for their tips, suggestions, or information: Silver Wolf, Euphorbic, Alzadea, Zachee, Rezuri, and Dr. L.

Thank you to all of my readers and to my reviewers: Zachee, Lessiehanamoray, Alzadea, Rezuri, Rufio, Silver Wolf, Ryeniya, Suzanne, Aikenjaldi, Matron Sahar, Euphorbic, and, of course, Darkhelmet. Um…I think I got you all. If I forgot to name someone, I'm sorry! Post note for reviewers commenting after the epilogue: thanks also to Drekadair, Neven, and Lord Onisyr.

Again, the quotes of poetry are from T.S. Eliot's "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock."

Don't forget, please, that Rezuri and Rufio both have fanart in their LE galleries which they've drawn to accompany my stories. Also, Darkhelmet has music you can email her about.

"Installment two" :) of this series in already underway. I've written a few scenes. However, given my work and class schedule, it will likely be May before I can really sit down and write on it. It is my hope to begin posting the story in early or mid June.

"Specters of Our Pasts" was completed on April 19, 2005.


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